


Penetralia

by Nononlnkink



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-13 08:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9114916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nononlnkink/pseuds/Nononlnkink
Summary: Penetralia: (n) the innermost parts or recesses of a place or thing; the most private or secret things.Prowl thought he was safe from the past, that he would be able to move on. His relationship with Jazz was proof enough. Then his records were released and Prowl found himself back in his own personal hell. He can't tell anyone the truth behind the medical files. He'd rather face the pain of his crew hating him.Resuming updates!





	1. Access Denied

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself that I would start writing more so ha. A big multi chapter fic that is 700% angst. Woo. 
> 
> Not beta'd. Please let me know if you find any mistakes. I also apologize on my writing. I've gotten rather rusty.

Jazz crouched behind a large pile of rubble and tried to get his bearings. Skirmishes were always messy, full fledged battles even more so, but this one really takes the cake. Angry screaming from above signalled multiple Seeker trines, shouts and cries echoed around wasted city, the crackle of weapons being discharged-it was easy to get lost in the noise alone. Even experienced soldiers could find themselves caught off guard and Jazz winced at the thought of what it was like for the newer warriors.  _ Traumatic, terrifying _ . For some this was their last moments, seeing carnage and destruction before being released back to the Well. For the survivors, each defining moment would live on, haunting the processor from day to night, forever chasing any peace from their minds. 

Jazz wanted to say he was no longer bothered by the situations the war forced him to witness and even participate in. He believed in the cause and was finding out that he had more to give to the Autobots each passing orn. The silver mech would willingly hand over information with energon-stained hands. But every time he was ordered to the frontlines or to protect an asset, Jazz would reconsider. Could anyone truly become calloused to the suffering they were causing? 

It would depend on who you asked. 

Jazz was suddenly thrown from his cover when a shockwave ricocheted through the air. His comms were alive with mechs’ voices, but there was one voice that drowned out the rest.

::Report!:: Prowl’s voice was collected and even, no trace of emotion dragging at his words. 

Cliffjumper’s voice was staticy, but still unmistakable. ::We got four down by the old energon factories. ‘Cons tried to blow the whole district up.::

::My team is already on the way,:: Ratchet responded. ::Any critical injuries?::

::Brawn’s left leg nearly got severed.::

There was angry muttering from the medic before he dropped off the comms. Prowl was ordering another team to distract the enemy so that Ratchet could get to the injured. A ping on a private line got Jazz’s attention.

::It’s Bumblebee. The explosion drew Soundwave’s attention enough that I got through.::

There’s a relief. Jazz peeked around before standing up. He sprinted across the street and into a ruined building. He waited until his sensors cleared the area of any hostiles before falling to his knees and digging around in his subspace. He pulled out a small round device-courtesy of Wheeljack-and its accompanying remote. ::Good. Ping me when you’ve got everythin’ set up. Hound, you still in position?::

::Yessir! Ready for the signal.::

Jazz turned his attention back towards the device in his hands. A small bomb, designed to be more bang than anything else. ‘Course, standing in the blast zone would still end with a mech in the medbay for a fantastically long time. Long enough that they’d just become part of the medbay itself. Jazz handled the little thing delicately, even though Wheeljack had promised that it would only go off if Jazz activated the detonator. If a simple energon pastry could become an explosive at the scientist’s hands then, well, who knew if an actual bomb would work as expected? 

The special ops mech was so dedicated to his task that he almost missed the sudden flurry of alarm set along the general comms. With the bomb secured and ready, no longer an obvious danger, Jazz tuned back into the chatter. He froze, halfway through standing. 

::We’ve lost visual.::

::Prowl!::

::The seekers are making another pass! Take cover!::

As he stood, Jazz barely felt the ground rumble with what he assumed were thanks to the seekers’ airstrike. He snapped, ::What’s goin’ on?:: He hurriedly left the building and made his way back towards the Autobot controlled side of the city. He rushed past Hoist carrying a bleeding Infero and the twins, both limping but ultimately grinning. Everyone was clearing the area.

::We’ve lost Prowl. His orders stopped not too long ago after his team got bogged down by seekers.:: Ironhide rumbled with a hint of concern.

Bluestreak’s chatter suddenly blared to the front of the comms. ::We split up, but when we all got to the rendezvous, Prowl didn’t show! What if the seekers got him? Starscream really has it out for Prowl. Maybe Starscream found him and-::

::Relax Blue, I’m sure he’s fine:: Jazz took a moment to check on his own team and found that they were waiting for his signal. ::Warnin’ guys, we’ve got everythin’ ready to blow.::

::Wait,:: Prowl’s voice suddenly exploded across the channel. ::Prime has yet to clear the blast range.::

Ironhide growled. ::He better hurry.::

There was silence before Prowl snarled something indistinct then ordered, ::Now!::

With a flourish, Jazz thumbed the detonator. There was a succession of loud booms before the telltale shrieking of metal on metal as buildings began to collapse. Panicked voices reached from where the most damage had been done, but Jazz ignored them. He didn’t care if some Decepticons got dented, he was more worried that Prowl had dropped off the comms earlier. 

Jazz stumbled through the city, careful of rumble and intact mines. There were a few other Autobots that he came across, each smiling in victory. They’d run off the Decepticons once more. Their cheer was infectious. By the time Jazz had made it back to the backlines, he had slipped from his mission-oriented persona to his much more cheery and excitable self.  He happily chatted and offered a helping hand to the others. 

Jazz didn’t notice that the medical team had yet to make an appearance. Skyfire had already transformed, ready to take the officers back to base, and most of the other transports had already left. Jazz strolled up Skyfire’s ramp and sprawled out across his seat. Mission successful and now he could relax in a comfy chair-perfect. Now if Prowl was here then maybe Jazz could convince the Praxian that after-battle cuddles were a thing. 

He kicked his legs back and forth while waiting for the others. As Ironhide, Blaster, and then Prime boarded, Jazz frowned. “No Ratchet or Prowl?”

Ironhide shook his head while Prime gave the silver mech a soft glance. “Prowl was injured and need Ratchet’s immediate attention. They will be arriving at the base before we do.”

_ What?  _ “He sounded fine over the comms.”

Prime opened his mouth to reply, but Ironhide beat him to it. “That fragger is a master at hiding things. He could sound as composed as ever even if Vortex had a go at ‘im.”

That was not a pleasant image. Jazz turned away and rested his helm against the seat next to him. Prowl should have been sitting beside him.

* * *

 

Ratchet smacked the datapad for the fifth time. “I know damned well that I can’t access his files!”

Wheeljack looked up from where he had crouched down to check on Sunstreaker’s leg. When Ratchet went back to forcefully tapping at the pad, the scientist sighed and shared a look with Hoist across the room. Wheeljack tapped on the knee joint and gave his patient a bright flash of his fins. “You’re good to go. Probably be best if you disappeared before  _ someone  _ starts throwing things.”

Sunstreaker huffed but climbed to his feet and went over to rejoin his brother. Sideswipe playful elbowed his twin and earned a glare in return. Laughing, he strode out of the medbay with Sunstreaker following, but not without a muttered insult. By the scandalized expression on First Aid’s faceplates, it must have been creative. 

Now that medbay was empty with the exception of one patient, Wheeljack stood and stretched. The remaining patient had Ratchet currently hovering over him. The medic was repeatedly glaring at him. Not that the looks were helping. Prowl had been forced into stasis for the journey back. Ratchet’s mood usually went south when dealing with the SIC since the Praxian tended to keep things to himself- _ especially  _ if it was something regarding his well being. 

Wheeljack carefully settled next to his bonded and peered over his shoulder. “What has the datapad done to you today?”

Ratchet stabbed one finger towards the screen with a scowl. “I can’t access some of Prowl’s medical files.”

“Really?” Wheeljack leaned forward and eased the datapad out of Ratchet’s hands. He tapped at a few things, but only received an error message. “Doesn’t your access code work?”

“Obviously not.”

Wheeljack stole a glance down at Prowl. Even in stasis, the poor mech was tense. He returned his attention to the fuming medic beside him. “So this means…?”

“I’ll have to either get Prowl’s permission, which is unlikely,” Ratchet sighed, “or Optimus will have to approve me having them.”

“Why haven’t you gotten clearance earlier?”

Ratchet took the datapad back and pulled up some of Prowl’s basic statuses. “I have access to everything in an Autobot’s medical file, with some exceptions. Anything that has been sealed by Autobot command-Optimus or Prowl mainly-or because of an Enforcer case before the war is out of my reach. Then you have the files on things that happened before mecha receive their final upgrades. Those can be sealed by the mech in question after going through a lot of legal slag.” 

Ratchet’s attention had become focused on reviewing Prowl’s overall condition. Wheeljack’s question nearly startled him. “And why didn’t you get Prowl to let you see everything before?”

“I’ve never had the reason too. Prowl isn’t on the battlefield very often anymore and when he is, it’s always somewhere relatively safe. This is the first time in a long time that Prowl was on the frontlines.”

“It  _ was  _ important.”

“Sure. Collapsing some already decimated buildings is  _ highly  _ important.”

“Ratch.”

“I never accessed Prowl’s files because his injuries were usually something I could figure out and fix. I know the signs of a spark attack or when a mech has lost too much energon, I know how to treat those. But when it comes to the processor?” Ratchet’s scowl had morphed into something vaguely resembling a smile. It was bitter and weary. His optics had dimmed at the confession. “I can fix a processor, sure, but the issues that mess with a mech’s mental state are beyond me. Prowl crashed for some reason and the only way I can get an idea of what happened is through his files, but I’ve already read through everything I had access too.”

Wheeljack wrapped his arms around his sparkmate and rested his forehead against Ratchet’s chevron. He let comfort swamp their bond and tried to ease the medic’s worn field. “You’ll figure it out.”

Ratchet sagged into the embrace and with a slow ex-vent , drew away. “I’ll have First Aid keep an eye on Prowl while I go talk with Prime. You should go recharge.”

Wheeljack chuckled and a mischievous twinkle appeared in his optics. “Only if you promise to come recharge after.” He laughed and his fins lit up with his amusement at Ratchet’s softened glare. “That’s not a no.”

“Fine, fine.” There was an accompanying sigh.

Wheeljack cheerfully waved as he walked away. The doors hissed open to let him through and to allow a nervous Jazz in. Ratchet gave him a critical once over, but other than poorly concealed fear in his field, Jazz appeared no worse for wear. 

“Hey doc. How’s Prowl?”

Ratchet considered just shooing the mech out, but he was honestly too worn out to really care. “He should be fine. If this were his first crash, I’d be more concerned. I’ll bring him out of stasis once I’m certain that his systems had properly defragged.”

“You takin’ him off duty when he wakes up?”

Ratchet shrugged. “Only for an orn or so. This crash wasn’t as bad as many of his others. You can stay with him if you promise to stay out of the way.”

Jazz’s visor brightened and he beamed. “You serious?”

“As long as you don’t make a nuisance of yourself. First Aid and Hoist can throw you out if they want too.”

“Thanks, doc.” Jazz’s field reflected his gratitude. He pulled a stool up to Prowl’s berth and perched atop it. He rested his elbows on his knees and bowed his helm. Ratchet waited to make sure that Jazz wasn’t simply waiting for Ratchet to turn around before causing chaos, but it seemed that the silver mech was content to stay by Prowl’s side. 

Ratchet tidied up some of his tools that were still hazardly strewn across the empty berths before telling First Aid that he was need to have a word with Prime. First Aid nodded and, with a smile, simply said, “You should rest after. I’ll make sure Jazz doesn’t glue any equipment to the ceiling.”   

Ratchet huffed, but couldn’t help a small smile. He snatched his datapad as he left the medbay. Some voices carried down the empty hall. It sounded like Inferno and Red Alert. Judging by the way, Red Alert’s voice was unusually shrill, Inferno must have dragged the security officer out of his monitor room. Better Inferno than him, Ratchet figured.

Other than the two security mechs, Ratchet didn’t hear or see anyone else. Odd, but fitting, he supposed. The resident party planner was currently in the medbay, hopefully not getting into any trouble. Everyone seemed to have settled upon some other quieter celebration method.

Ratchet reached Prime’s office door without really realizing. He didn’t bother knocking, instead just stomping into the room with a scowl on his face. Optimus was sitting at his desk, helm in one hand while scribbling at a datapad. He glanced up and immediately sat up straight. “Ratchet? Is Prowl alright?”

“He’s stable.” Ratchet approached the massive desk and slammed his datapad down. “He crashed and unless I can get access to his files, I’m concerned that I might not figure out why.”

Prime stared at the pad for a klik before meeting Ratchet’s optics. “You wish for me to authorize your access?”

“Yes.”

“Why not just wait until Prowl wakes and ask the reason for his crash?”

“You’ve know him just as long as I have. He’ll play it off.”

Prime was probably one of the few mechs who could stand up against Ratchet’s murderous glare, but this time the large mech was fidgeting. Odd. 

“I cannot authorize Prowl’s files without his consent.”

“Prowl’s out of commission until I say so. And I can’t do anything until I figure out what caused his crash.”

Prime was silent. He picked up the datapad and turned it on. After skimming it, he sighed. “Very well. However, I believe it would be best if you did not mention that you have seen them.”

That created a sinking feeling in Ratchet’s tanks. The feeling only grew as Optimus carefully typed in his access code and then handed it back. The Prime wouldn’t meet his optics. Steeling himself, Ratchet opened the first file. 


	2. Monitoring Sneaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh boy what could be in those files?

Monitor duty. Yay.

Blaster stretched back against the chair, almost dislodging a snoozing Steeljaw from his lap. The cassette huffed in annoyance at being jostled and jumped off his carrier to slink under a console. Blaster smiled sheepishly at the pair of eyes glaring at him. “Sorry, kiddo.” Steeljaw yawned and curled up to resume his nap. When it was apparent the little Cybertronian was settled, Blaster turned his attention to the monitors in front of him. He was bored and more than jealous of his recharging cassette. If Blaster was caught not paying attention, Alert Red would probably dump him in Deception territory to become a snack for Devastator. No thank you.

So, here he was, helm in his hands and wavering attention on the many, many screens encompassing the wall of the security room. There wasn’t much exciting happening. Sure, Blaster had caught the frontliner twins trying to sneak out of the rec room with Bluestreak’s rifle and the ensuing mess when Bluestreak realized that his weapon was missing and chased the brothers down the hallway. Then there had been a moping Jazz pacing in front of medbay until Blaster had pinged him. As the Spec Ops mech’s friend, it was his duty to ignore boring work and see if he could cheer him up. Jazz hadn’t said much, other than he had been kicked out before even getting a chance to see Prowl for longer than a klik and now First Aid was reluctant to allow the silver mech in even after Jazz’s begging. _Hmpf_ . _All bent out of shape for the drone once again._ Blaster tried to keep his thoughts to himself.

::What did you do to get kicked out?::

::I think I might have been gettin’ on Hoist’s nerves. Apparently, crowdin’ around one a his patients while he’s workin’ isn’t a good idea.::

Blaster laughed. ::Have you tried giving Hatchet a comm?::

Jazz’s little staticky figure snorted. ::Primus, no. I don’t want my audial yelled off then for him to come and personally end me. ‘Sides, he’s talkin’ to Prime.::

::What for?::

::No idea.:: There was some silence before Jazz’s cheeky voice returned, purring. ::Say, you up to some detective work?::

Blaster perked up at the thought and earned a curious glance from a groggy Steeljaw. ::Anything to distract me from monitor duty.::

* * *

It took a kilk for everything to register. Ratchet whipped his helm up to stare at Prime then right back to the datapad. He went through the reports once more just in case. There weren’t just medical files that were sealed up.

“Why-”

“To provide some insight. Prowl’s idea, not mine.”

“Right.” Ratchet ignored the medical reports to focus on the other documents. A considerable amount were from an old Praxus Enforcers case, some psych reviews following the dates listed on the police work and continuing almost up until Prowl joined to Autobots, and two or three copies of a personal note. The medic barely skimmed the note before immediately choosing a different file to read through. It was too personal for him to be sticking his nose in.

Optimus sat, watching his friend wrestle with varying emotions before leaning forward to place a large hand on Ratchet’s forearm. “Sit down?”

Ratchet promptly did so, although the closest chair was meant more for a mech of Prime’s own size. He balanced the datapad on his knee. “I don’t know if this will even help us figure out what caused him to crash.”

“That leaves you with…?”

“Talking to him,” Ratchet sighed, “which means I won’t get anywhere.”

There was a click and Prime’s battle mask slid away so he could give the medic a small smile. “I believe he might be more cooperative if you tell him that you now know.”

“What happened to ‘don’t tell him’?”

“I changed my mind. This is much to vital to Prowl. It would only startle him the more should he find out that you were privy to his sealed information without you telling him yourself. This is much too personal for us to try and keep that a secret.” Ratchet didn’t respond so Optimus gently suggested, “Should you not be getting back to your patients?”

With a subdued farewell, Ratchet marched out of the Prime’s office. He didn’t notice anyone in the hallways with him or if anyone had called out a greeting. His processor was in a tizzy, trying to compare the new information on the SIC with the Prowl he served alongside. The mech described in the reports had been desperate, terrified, _emotional_ . Maybe-maybe there might be something about the crash that could be connected or at least Prowl’s glitch. A traumatizing experience for a youngling, something that was illogically and wrong and- _no_ , he had to stop thinking about it or else Ratchet might make himself glitch. He’d wait to see what he could learn from Prowl.   

It took much too long for him to back. He wasn’t surprised to see Jazz waiting outside the doors. “Hoist?”

Jazz looked up in surprise. He must not have heard Ratchet walk up. “Yeah, Aid’s too nice to throw me out.”

Ratchet absentmindedly nodded as he typed in his code and stood back to let the doors slid apart. Jazz went to follow him inside, but Ratchet pushed him back into the hallway. “You stay out here.”

“But-!”

Ratchet keyed the door closed and locked it, ignoring the muffled muttering that erupted from the other side. He stepped back and leaned back against the wall, helm in one hand as he sighed. First Aid came padding out of from behind a curtain and saw him. His optics brightened and he hurried over. “Did you find anything?”

“In a way.”

First Aid pulled up short at the harsh words. “What do you mean?”

Ratchet pushed off from the wall and strode towards the curtained off berths. “Prowl simply has some answers I need.” First Aid watched him disappear with a frown pulling at his faceplates.

* * *

Prowl onlined his optics slowly and took a moment to check the report from his defrag. There was some twitchy code from his crash earlier, but everything else seemed normal. Hopefully there had been few other injuries. He finished skimming the few reports he had and then allowed his optics to flicker back to life. Much to his surprise, there was a tense looking medic leaning over him.

“Ratchet.”

“Prowl.” Ratchet glanced away from him for a klik as if he was checking they were alone. “You had a crash-nothing too serious. Any helmaches or the sort?”

“No. May I sit up?” Ratchet pressed a button on the berth and Prowl waited until the berth was upright before shifting so his doorwings were more comfortable. He flicked one when Ratchet was silent. “There is something else that you wish to inform me of?”

The tense silence stretched on for a good while before Ratchet sighed and leaned forward to rest his hands on the edge of the berth. “We need to have a chat.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge. “About what?”

Ratchet leaned back and plucked a datapad off a monitor. He held it out for the Praxian to take. While Prowl considered the datapad now in his hands, Ratchet resumed his position next to the berth. He watched Prowl carefully, optics taking in every little shift of his patient. When Prowl tensed and nearly cracked the datapad, Ratchet meet his gaze. The SIC’s eyes had gone from icy blue to stark white.

“Optimus gave you this.”

“Yeah,” Ratchet couldn’t help huff, “I wouldn’t hack into your sealed files.”

Prowl drew in on himself, wings trembling. “They were sealed for a reason.”

“A good reason, I know. But Prowl, something of that magnitude can have lifelong effects. Why wouldn’t you at least tell me about-”

“ _I couldn’t!_ Why bring something up that is now in the past? There was nothing you could do had I told you.” Prowl’s voice had gone shrill and his optics narrowed. His field, loosened by his shock, snapped back until it was practically nonexistent. “You had no right to read those files.”

“Like slag I can’t!” Ratchet bristled. “You crashed with no reason and I needed to figure out why. Of course I’d try to look into some slagging sealed files if I could find out why a patient went and messed up his processor!” Prowl was silent, but continued to glare.

Ratchet let him until Prowl’s wings drooped and he dropped his optics to stare at his hands. “What do you need to know?”

 _Finally_. “Clearly your files had nothing about your crash-”

“A Decepticon with a shockingly similar paint job to one of,” Prowl coughed and nodded down at the datapad, “made some rather crude comments towards me. It was illogical and…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“Oh.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge at Ratchet, unimpressed at his eloquence. The silence in the room grew until it was an awkward weight on the two mechs.

“May I be released?”

With a sigh, Ratchet nodded and stepped back to allow the Praxian room to get up. With a grateful wing dip, Prowl swept passed the medic. There was a brief exclamation from First Aid before the sound of the door opening and a happy yelp from a certain silver mech. Ratchet poked his head around the curtain in time to see Jazz sweep Prowl into a crushing hug and place a kiss on his chevron. Prowl smiled slightly at the attention and leaned into the larger mech. Reunion over, the two lovebirds began to make their way out of the medical wing. Jazz was blubbering on about something or another and Prowl was nodding along.

Ratchet watched them go with a frown. Was Prowl being honest about having moved past it? If his reactions to Jazz’s affectionate attention was anything to go by… First Aid approached him with a brilliant smile.

“They’re such a cute couple.”

* * *

 Blaster spun in his chair, giddy and face lit up. “Detective Blaster strikes again!” He hurriedly turned back to the monitor he had been watching for the past few shifts. This was fantastic! Jazz wanted him to dig around-although for what he hadn't been sure. But this? Oh, _Primus!_ This is gold! Steeljaw jumped up into his lap to see what had gotten his carrier so excited.

Blaster pointed to a stilled frame of Ratchet talking with Prowl. There was a datapad being passed between them. “That, kiddo, is something big.” He forwarded the frame and pointed to a drooped Prowl. “Anything that can make _Prowl_ do that is big.”

Steeljaw just glanced between them. “You sure?”

"A hundred percent. Whatever is on that datapad we have to get. I'm sure Swideswipe would be willing to sneak a copy of it.”


	3. Rumor Mill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been beta'd yet but I promised to get it out today so if anything needs fixing once my beta has given it the once over, I'll do it later.

Two figures slid into the medbay with barely a whisper. The hacked door stayed open behind them. One of the two held out his hands to ensure he didn’t run into anything. He huffed when he made contact with a monitor. One hand was lowered to his chassis to check for scrapes. 

“Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not. But c’mon, Blaster said he’d take our monitor shifts for next two orns.”

“Fine, now shut up before someone hears.”

The other intruder flicked on his headlights to illuminate the large room. He spun around and blinded his partner in crime. 

“Sideswipe, turn those off!” The pained hiss echoed. 

Sideswipe sheepishly grinned and did as asked. “Sorry, Sunny.” The only reply was a growl. Sideswipe listened to his brother half-stomp around the medbay, sometimes getting a glimpse of him in a monitor’s blinking light. With a grin, the frontliner turned back to his own search. He wanted to find the datapad, copy whatever it had on it, and get the slag out of here. Ratchet may not be on duty at the moment, having been dragged off to recharge by Wheeljack, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t come bursting in. There were probably more alarms in here than in the security room. 

But that wasn’t going to stop him. No, not with the tantalizing prospect of getting out of monitor duty. Blaster would get what he wanted and then get stuck with Red Alert for a good few shifts. Ha, it would be even better if Infero would be there, but he was still on light duty. A shame since Blaster seemed to get up the other’s nerves and that was always a fun sight. Regardless of what happened after this little adventure, Sideswipe was just excited to have more time to hammer out some kind of prank-maybe Bluestreak this time?

A grumble from the far side of the room grabbed his attention. Sunstreaker was trying to make his way over and based on the irritated growl of his engine, he had walked smack into something. Sideswipe met him halfway with an amused smirk. “Having trouble there?”

“Shut up. I found the stupid thing.” Sunstreaker held out a datapad and Sideswipe enthusiastically snatched it. The screen flickered to light with a gentle tap and immediately asked for a passcode. Sideswipe rummaged through his subspace to find some of his hacking gear - a present from Jazz one year after managing to get Prowl to laugh. With a flourish, he plugged a cord into the device and fiddled with it until the screen opened into a view of the datapad’s contents. 

“Bingo!”

Sunstreaker didn’t seem all that impressed. “Hurry up.”

Sideswipe stuck his glossa out at him even though his twin couldn’t see. He snapped a datachip into a slot along the datapad’s side and quickly sorted through the files popping up. “What do you think he wants? He wasn’t very specific.”

“Just copy anything that seems important.”

Before he could do so, however, Sideswipe noticed what exactly he was messing with. “Oh slag, these are Prowl’s med files.”

“Are you serious?” Sunstreaker shoved one of Sideswipe’s arms out of the way so he could see. “What does Blaster want with those?”

Sideswipe shrugged. “Probably doing something for Jazz. You know he’s crazy protective over Prowl. He might just not want to draw any attention to himself.”

“Sure. Now get what we need so we can leave.”

Sideswipe choose a few of the first files that had come up and impatiently waited for them to finish copying to the datachip. There was a quiet beep when it was finished. The datachip was carefully pulled out and the datapad placed exactly where it had been found. The two frontliners snuck back out of the medbay, datachip in hand. The doors, finally allowed to fully close, slid shut with a resonating thud. 

* * *

Blaster joyfully accepted the datachip the next time he ran into the twins. All three had hurriedly found an empty table away from the others in the rec room. Blaster slid the chip into a blank datapad he had stored in his subspace. As the datapad loaded up and began to download the information, the red and gold mech turned his excited attention towards the twins.

“Nice job, mechs.”

Sideswipe leaned in with a smirk. “So, what’s this for?”

A shrug and knowing grin answered his question. Sunstreaker huffed and raised an optic ridge. Blaster held up a hand when the datapad beeped at him. “Hang on.” His optics scanned the information and widen in glee. He held out the datapad to the twins. He sang-song, “You won’t believe this!”

Sunstreaker snatched the datapad and read through it, optics narrowing in thought. He passed it over to Sideswipe with a frown. Sideswipe eagerly skimmed the first few lines, but slowed down to actually process what he was reading. He shared a look with his brother. “What do you think this is exactly?”

“It looks like a report.”

“Yeah-”

“Does it matter?” Blaster interrupted, “Prowl has a list of mechs’ names and then look at  _ this _ .” He leaned over and tapped the only other file. Sideswipe leaned over somewhat to make room for Sunstreaker reading over his shoulder. This time, the datapad listed some varying slight injuries.

Blaster shrugged with a slag-eating grin in place. “I don’t know about you, but I think we might have stumbled on some very interesting information.” He plucked the device out of the twin’s grasp and sauntered out of the rec room.

Sunstreaker grabbed Sideswipe’s arm. “All of that looked like it was only part of a full report.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sideswipe frowned at the table, processor chasing his thoughts in circles. “I snatched the some of the smaller files so that it wouldn’t be as noticeable if Ratchet decided to check for any data transfers.”

“It kind of looked similar…”   


“To our own files, yeah, I know. That’s what I’m a little worried about. But that’d be impossible, right? I mean, this is  _ Prowl  _ we’re talking about.”

Sunstreaker shrugged but didn’t otherwise give any reply. 

* * *

By the time the twins had to head back to take over for their shift in the command deck, whispers were already running wild. Huffer had dashed past them, doubled back, and jogged next to them as he excitedly began babbling on about how he heard from Cosmos that Blaster had told Cliffjumper who in turn told him that apparently Prowl had been pretty wild while he was younger. They shared a glanced when Huffer finally ended his babble with a laugh then sprinted into the rec room. 

Jazz blankly stared at the mob huddled around Huffer in the rec room. They all were hanging onto his every word, but he was talking too quietly for Jazz to hear. When he had walked past to get his ration earlier, everyone had gone silent and watched him until he was over at a table a good distance away. That had immediately gotten his attention. Now that they were engrossed in the story he could sneak up and listen in. 

Jazz found a good seat behind Trailbreaker just in time for Huffer’s quiet snicker and Streetwise’s snorted, “There’s no way he’d do that.”

“Do what?”  _ Slag _ , so much for being indiscreet. Everyone whirled around in surprise to face the special ops mech. 

“How long have you been there?”   


“Mech, we thought you had heard by now.”

“Shut up, guys!” 

Jazz frowned. “What are y’all talkin’ about?”

Huffer leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He grinned.  “If I were you, I’d go chat with Blaster about your sweetspark.”

He wanted him to talk to Blaster about Prowl?  _ What? _ Jazz watched as everyone exploded into chittering groups. Huffer went to scoot past him to join Trailbreaker, but Jazz grabbed his arm. Huffer’s irritated, but bemused field felt odd against his own confusion.

“Seriously, Huffer, what’s up?”

“I’m not going to say another word.”

“Huffer, c’mon!”

With a sarcastic sigh, the Autobot turned to look down at Jazz. “All I know is that Blaster dug up some interesting tidbits on Prowl. He didn’t say much, just kinda dropped some hints. It sounds like Prowl’s not just a looker.”

“Excuse me?” Jazz nearly stepped away in shock. Once the word got out that Prowl and him were together, everyone had been oh so careful to avoid talking about Prowl in any way that might be taken as negative-especially when Jazz was around. Any of Prowl’s little admirers had hastily focused their attentions elsewhere. This was the first time someone had said anything since Jazz had broken Trailbreaker’s optic after a crude comment on Prowl’s doorwings. 

Huffer froze and his optics flashed white. “Slag. Nothing! Just go talk to Blaster.” And with that the large mech hurried off.

Jazz glared after him. Once sure that the offending Autobot wasn’t going to open his mouth again, Jazz spun around and stalked out of the rec room. He hurried towards the command deck and found that there were groups of Autobots huddled around, everyone whispering excitedly. He heard Prowl’s name more than he liked. What was so interesting to have gained so much whirlwind? Then again, very few people knew much about Prowl. Maybe it was nothing?

The glances he got were accompanied by snickers. That only made Jazz want to hurry all the more. By the time he had escaped from the buzzing hallway, the silver mech found himself facing a situation very similar to the rec room. Blaster was lounging in the communications chair, grinning and waving his hands wildly. A crowd had massed around him. Jazz bullied his way through only for someone to grab onto his arm and try to drag him back. He spun around to growl at the offender. 

“Relax!” Sideswipe yelped and let go of the smaller mech. “Just me.”

“Sorry, little on edge.”

“I can tell! Heard Blaster had some new gossip and you couldn't stay away?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Sideswipe grinned and promptly shoved Gears out of the way. He bowed and held out an arm for Jazz to head right on through the gap. Jazz couldn’t help the amused huff of his vents as he walked past the beaming frontliner. It took some more pushing and elbowing to get to the front of the crowd and gain Blaster’s attention. When the red and gold mech noticed Jazz, a dazzling smile lit up his faceplates and he yanked the other close. “Jazz! I’ve been lookin’ for you!”

Jazz returned to smile. “Yeah, sure made a lotta progress.” There were some chuckles from the assembly. Blaster threw his head back as he laughed. Once he got himself back under control, apart from an occasional hiccuping in-vent, he nodded in agreement. Jazz nudged Blaster, “Well, what’s the fuss this time?”

“You won’t believe what he’s found out about Prowl!”

“He probably already knows, idiot.”

“No wonder he chased after him, I mean-”   


“I would’ve if I’d known.”

“You’d go after anything that moves, Groove.”

Blaster must have sensed the murderous intent in Jazz’s field because as the Autobots began to squabble amongst themselves, Jazz found himself being dragged away. Again.  _ Fantastic! This better not become a new thing,  _ Jazz grumbled to himself. He let Blaster lead him away before he decided to amp up the bickering into a full-fledged brawl. No sooner had they stepped out of the command center, door dutifully swishing shut behind them, did Blaster whip around to shove something into Jazz’s hands. 

“And this is?” Jazz held up the thing-a datapad-and turned it on. Blaster just bounced on his pedes, ridiculous grin still in place. “C’mon, mech, I’m not really in a mood for twenty questions.”

“Just read through it.”

With an optic ridge raised at his friend, Jazz tapped the screen to bring up the first document. A short list of names-some Jazz was surprised to recognize as current Decepticons-appeared. Blackdive and Chaser had been high-priority targets in one of his first missions as head of special operations. Not counting those two and the few other Decepticons named, the rest of the names were unrecognizable. “A list a’ names?”

Blaster nodded then leaned over to scroll through the names. “Got some ‘Cons on here.”

“So a list of mecha that Prowl had his optics on?”

“Look at the next one.”

Jazz glared at the other, still smug and smiling. He turned his thinning attention to the datapad again. Hopefully it will keep him from smack Blaster and demanding to know exactly what he meant. The next file he read through was  _ much  _ more extensive. Small, non life-threatening injuries took up the screen and Jazz frowned. Burns here and there, tears in plating, a few protoform gashes. Did that one say  _ acid _ ? Primus, it  _ did _ . He shoot a confused glance at Blaster before reading the rest of the report. It looked like it had been part of an official government report, but had since been copied over until it lost some of the strict organizing structure. “Where did you find this?”

“I have my ways,” Blaster waggled a finger at him, grin now cheeky. 

“Then what the slag is so important about it?”   


Datapad swiped from his grasp, Jazz watched as Blaster quickly tapped on it and fiddled around. The communications officer spun it around so his friend could see what he had highlighted. “Look carefully, okay? Just tell me what the very first thing you think of when you put these all together.”

“What the frag does some dents and a list a’ names-oh. You gotta be kiddin’.”

“Nope!”

“Lemme see that,” Jazz growled and snatched the datapad back. “No way Prowl was like that. Spark barely lets me kiss ‘im.”

_ What the frag?  _ His visor flashed and Jazz couldn’t help an irritated rumble. Blaster looked rather gleeful at the anger-shock that was bleeding from his field. Jazz stashed the datapad in his subspace and glared at the wall next to his friend. “Now what?”

That got his attention. “Whadda ya mean?”

“I’m just making a guess here, and please don’t kill me in recharge for this, but Prowl hasn’t said anything about this, huh?”

“No. Not a word.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah,” Blaster shrugged, “I mean, you’re always defending the guy and now it seems like you hardly know him. This is kind of a big deal to know in relationships after all.”

Jazz shook his helm and sighed. Blaster did have a point. He’d been defending Prowl since the Praxian had arrived to take over as second in command. If he’d found out something like this then, it hardly would have mattered, but now that they were in a relationship? It  _ hurt  _ to not know something about his lover. “Get back to your post, I’m gonna go drop in on Prowl. If he’s doing better, than I guess we better have a chat.”

Blaster waved him off cheerily. Jazz heard the door swish open and shut behind him. He started down the hallway towards Prowl’s office and every step felt like someone had replaced his pedes with cement. There weren’t many in the hallway once he got closer to the officers’ wing. Maybe Prowl was in recharge. Then they could avoid this whole conversation until later. Maybe-maybe this was some stupid prank? That would be fun to see Prowl give the pranksters a lecture of a lifetime. 

Jazz was jerked out of his thoughts when he ran right into someone’s back. “Slag, sorry there.”

To his surprise, a glaring Sunstreaker huffed and stepped out of the way. Sideswipe popped up barely a klik later. “Hey Jazz! What’s up?”

“I’m here to see Prowler.”

What was that expression suppose to mean? Even Sunstreaker suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Well,” Sideswipe wasn’t meeting his visor, “Prowl just got yelled at by Ratchet for doing work and I think he got marched to his quarters to get some rest.”

“Gotcha, thanks. Sorry, Sunny.” With a wink at the yellow twin, Jazz retreated. He’d put off the conversation for another orn, no problem. 


	4. Fire Alarm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a strange one. I started writing it with a clear path in mind only for some certain security mechs to demand they are introduced. Now I'm going to have to find where to squeeze them in future chapters. Also featuring the twins doing something suspicious.
> 
> Oh boy, do you see that? That's the actually conflict in the horizon.

Once again, Red Alert was frowning at the screen before him. Inferno awkwardly shuffled up behind him. The small security director had noticed that there was something odd about the troops lately and wanted his companion to confirm what he saw. At first, Inferno had chalked it up to one of the decreasing fits of paranoia, but after watching mechs badgering and some attempting to get physical with Prowl, he had to agree. There was something wrong and it was blindingly obvious. The one fact about this that was the most surprising to him, however, was the fact that Jazz had yet to step in. The silver mech was usually extremely protective over the SIC. Where was he? And when had the twins designated themselves as Prowl’s escort everywhere?

The poor mech hadn’t even been back on full active duty for an orn yet. 

Red Alert huffed as one screen showed Prowl stepping out of his office and nearly running face first into Sideswipe. The red frontliner smiled down at the black and white before stepping back allowing him to hurry down the hallway. The twins hounded him until they reached the rec room. Prowl went to step in, but Sunstreaker whipped past while Sideswipe grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the hallway. The two were arguing when Sunstreaker popped back out with some energon cubes balanced in his arms. Prowl and Sideswipe were quick to grab their own before the haphazardly pile tumbled to the floor. The SIC turned on his heel and marched back to his office, twins in tow. 

“That’s odd,” Inferno mumbled. Red Alert nodded vehemently. “Do you think that the twins got in trouble and this is their punishment duty?”

Red Alert glared at the screen displaying the rec room. “No.” 

“Why not?”

“Prowl usually sends them to clean or assist Ratchet. Only when they truly irritate him, does he give them something that keeps them under his watch.”

Some of the other mechs in the security room had been drawn over to investigate. A few snickered at the sight of the twins following Prowl like lost turbo-pups. Inferno waited until the others had began their own speculating before giving Red Alert a look. His side of the bond hummed in acknowledgment. ::I believe the reason might not be known to us as we’ve spent most of our time in the security room.::

Inferno snorted, but didn’t argue. They did tend to spend more time than they necessarily required keeping watch over the security footage and features. Red Alert was good at his job and he never really took a step back. Inferno was just along for the ride, more concerned on making sure his bondmate didn’t slump over from lack of energon or recharge....again. “Then what?” He asked the crowd at large. No one would assume he’d aimed it at Red considering everyone had been chiming in with their own theories. 

::Visit to the rec room?::   


::You mean,  _ I  _ should go to the rec room and snoop around.::

::Yes, exactly. I should not leave the monitors to another until we know what has caused this change.::

::Uh, huh. Sure. I’ll bring back energon.::

Red Alert’s pleased-amused field wove with his own before Inferno set off on his errand.

* * *

 

Prowl stepped back into his office when he heard chatter coming down the hall towards him. It was probably those infernal twins that had yet to leave him alone. When he’d tried to go retrieve his ration earlier, they had kept him in the hall while grabbing it for him. Likely a bribe for a prank that they were planing. They didn’t want to have to scrub the medbay again-not that Prowl could blame them. Ratchet was a terror when it came to the medbay’s condition. Actually, the medic was a terror constantly. 

The polite knock at the door warned him to the arrival of his new bodyguards and he hurriedly stepped back behind his desk. No need to let them know that he had tried to escape from their attention. Prowl picked up a datapad from his overflowing out box and pretended to be reading through it when Sideswipe bounced into the room. 

“Hey! We got energon!”

Sunstreaker was less enthusiastic about their little adventure. He handed Prowl a cube and then made himself comfy in one of the two visitor chairs. Sideswipe continued to stand and wave his hands about, chatting. 

“I don’t know why Cliff decided that it was a good idea to try and provoke him, but what could I do? I’d end up getting dragged into it and then Sunny would too. You’d probably yell at us and give us some ridiculous punishment and then no one would be happy.”

Prowl balanced his datapad on the stack again, making a mental note to go hand them back out as soon as he could. He gave Sideswipe a faint smile. “It is a good thing that you had some common sense.”

Sunstreaker cackled and Sideswipe narrowed his optics. “Was that sarcasm? I think that was sarcasm.” Prowl briefly dipped his wings-the equivalent of a shrug. Sunstreaker doubled over and nearly fell out of his chair. 

“I think my ego just took a blow.”

“You needed it,” Sunstreaker managed around his laughter.

Sideswipe rounded on his brother. While the two brothers bickered, Prowl sipped at his ration and reorganized the reports based on where the author was currently on shift. The few who were off duty could either come and retrieve theirs or send Prowl a comm asking for it. He stuck his empty cube in subspace, intent on returning it when he passed the rec room, and hefted a good portion of the datapads. It wasn’t that hard to slip out while the twins were good-naturedly growling at each other. Once they notice he’d gone, they could track him down. Prowl had work to do.

First stop was at the medbay to give Ratchet his approved request for some new medical equipment and supplies. They’d have to wait until the parts were available, but Iacon was top of the list to receive them. Prowl handed it off to a nervous First Aid who explained that Ratchet had been dragged off to recharge and he was to watch over the wing, only he couldn’t find Hoist who was suppose to help him with recalibrating some equipment. Prowl promised to keep an optic out and left. 

From there, Prowl stopped at the rec room to drop off his cube. There were a few mechs in there who snickered when he walked past and was met with some crude jeers. His wings wanting to flit anxiously, only stopped by Prowl lowering the processing power of his emotional center. Once out of the room, he’d return them to normal. No need to end up in the medbay with a furious Ratchet after his aft because he crashed after letting his battle computer have too much control. Regardless, escaping the rec room was a relief. More mechs were in the hallways, but at least he could hurry past them and ignore their whispered comments. Someone managed to run a hand along one of his doorwings and he nearly bolted. Instead he turned to snarl at the perpetrator only to find a crowd watching him. Prowl sighed and continued towards the security room. 

He ran face first into Inferno. 

“Oh! Sorry, Prowl!” Inferno fretted. He pulled the Praxian up and helped collect the scattered datapads. Luckily, none were broken. “You okay?”

“Yes, I am fine. Thank you.” Prowl took the datapads and hastily made to move past the red mech. Inferno held out an arm to block him. 

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing is. May I please?”

“No, somethin’s botherin’ you.”

“Inferno, please. I have to deliver all of these.”

Inferno moved back, but not happily. Prowl walked past with a thankful nod. He ignored someone calling after him from further down the hall. It wasn’t long to the command deck and if he could just make it without any more interruptions, he’d be the happiest mech in the world. 

Prowl checked the rosters. A quick scan for Jazz’s name pulled up that he was currently on his off shift. He didn’t have any missions-at least ones that Prowl had reviewed-so maybe after dropping the last of the datapads off, they could go for a drive. It’s been ages since they’ve done anything other than fuel and recharge together. Jazz had tried to suggest some  _ activities  _ that could keep them occupied while on base, but Prowl would shoot them down. He hated the look of disappointment on the other’s face, but what else could he do? 

There were more whispers from those he passed. It was a loud voice that drew the black and white’s attention back to the present however. “Prowl!”

“Ironhide.”

“Where ya off to?”

Prowl gestured at the large doors a few meters away. So close. He had been  _ so  _ close. Ironhide nodded in understanding, but he didn’t let the other leave. 

“So I’ve heard some things.” 

Prowl was silent, waiting. Ironhide cleared his throat. “Some of the troops have been sayin’ the strangest junk, but I don’t wanna believe it unless ya tell me, ya know?”

“Saying what exactly?”

“That you’ve been, I don’t know... around?”

“Ironhide, you’ll have to be more specific than that.” 

The large mech shifted his weight. “I’m just repeatin’ what I’ve heard, okay? There’s a rumor goin’ around that you, um, you...see they’ve said that you’ve….”

“Well?”

“They say ya were quite the ‘facer back in the days.”

Prowl’s spark felt like it was shrinking. “What?”

“Ya know, been around the block a few times. And were pretty into the rough stuff.”

What? Why does-no, no, how does he know? How does anyone know for that matter? Is that why everyone has been acting so strange? They found out-oh, Primus. How could they have found out?

_ Ratchet. _

* * *

 

Jazz stretched out and threw himself over Blaster’s chair. The communication specialist was too busy watching for any stray signals to notice. Lacking attention from his friend, Jazz stood up to go and find someone else to bother. It was his off shift and slag it, he was going to enjoy it. No worrying about what the datapad sitting heavy in his subspace meant, no worrying about Prowl, no worrying about their relationship. Just bothering other mechs until he was either thrown out or had to go to his own shift. Jazz was just about to jump on Cosmo when the doors slid open and a baffled Ironhide stepped through. 

"Heya, ‘Hide!” Jazz waved and bounced over to the red mech. “Whatcha got there?”

“Prowl’s datapads. He just shoved them into my arms and then took off.” He sounded shocked. Jazz was too, actually. Prowl never would willingly let someone else do his work, let alone shoot off without a word about it. There was maybe twice that Prowl has ever ran through the hallways. Once when Smokescreen had been brought to the medbay in critical condition after a long battle and then when Praxis had been leveled. His old enforcer coding had sent him into a frenzy. But what could have been the cause this time?

Jazz slid past Ironhide, still standing there and staring at the devices in his arms, and dashed out into the hallway. A group of mechs were chuckling and talking to each other-about what had just happened based on the occasional snort of Prowl or ‘Hide’s name. Jazz ignored them and shot off in the direction of the officers’ wing. He had nearly made it there when he heard Prowl’s voice come from down the opposite hallway-towards the medbay. It was too muffled for him to make out what he was saying. Hurrying after the voice brought Jazz face to face with the SIC. Prowl gazed at him with a mixture of surprise and...betrayal? 

“Jazz,” Prowl hummed, regaining his professional mask. 

Jazz stepped closer and put a hand on Prowl’s arm. “What’s wrong, Prowler? ‘Hide said you took off.”

“It is simply an issue with security.”

“Then why are you standin’ outside the medbay then when you should be talkin’ to Red?”

“Oh.”

“And who were you talkin’ to just then?”

Prowl’s wings dipped in embarrassment. “I apologize. I was speaking to First Aid through a comm. link. I did not realize I was speaking aloud.”

“You should get some shut-eye.” 

Prowl pulled away from Jazz’s hand. He shook his head. “No, there are important matters that I must attend to.”

Jazz followed and grabbed ahold of his hand and gently began to lead him down the hallway. “Nah. They’ll still be there for you later.”

Prowl didn’t protest as he followed Jazz through the hallways until they reached his quarters. Jazz quickly tapped in the door code and impatiently tapped his foot while the door began to slide open only to get stuck. He grumbled and kicked it. In an almost irritated manner, the door slammed closed. Prowl leaned over to tap his code in while a slight smile at the taller mech beside him. “Red Alert has momentarily changed my office and personal quarter’s codes.”

“You coulda told me that before the door threw a fit!”

The small laugh which that earned made Jazz smile. The door slid open with barely a sound. It gained a glare for it. Prowl switched the lights on while Jazz immediately went to flop on the couch. The room was spartan in its decor. With a terminal that connected to the base’s network, a desk, and a few shelves stuffed full of datapads containing Prowl’s favorite reads, and a berthroom through the door to the left. The berth fit inside was big enough for both Prowl and Jazz. The couch was something Jazz had moved from his rarely used quarters to Prowl’s. It had taken some bribery and begging before the SIC caved and said he could move in. Prowl hadn’t known that the couch was part of the deal, but it was probably the most comfortable thing besides the berth, so he hadn’t complained much. 

Jazz sprawled out on the couch and dragged Prowl to come sit next to him. “So what’s the matter, sweetspark?”

Prowl shifted one wing so that it wouldn’t press down on Jazz. He leaned his helm against Jazz’s chassis. “It is nothing of importance.”

“What if I go and dig up those weird acid treats you like? Would you be willin’ to chat then?” Prowl’s laugh vibrated through his systems. Jazz smiled and planted a kiss on Prowl’s chevron. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He stood up and offered a hand to Prowl. He helped the Praxian to his feet and ushered him towards the berthroom. Prowl let himself be shoved onto the berth and he immediately curled up with his wings hanging over the edge. “Joining me?”

Jazz beamed and wiggled in between Prowl and the back wall. “Get some rest, spark.” He kissed Prowl’s forehead and carefully gathered the smaller mech into his arms, avoiding the doorwings. Prowl ex-vented and leaned into the warmth of the other before letting his systems shift into recharge. Any thoughts swirling around his processor where swiftly shut down-even those in regards to the terrifying prospect of the entire Iacon base knowing his deepest secret, and that it appeared Ratchet was the one who let it slip. 


	5. Confrontation: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was incredibly hard to write. I have no idea why. It's also EXTREMELY short, but my beta and I agreed that it just worked better like this. It's also a two part chapter thing since I really wanted to kind of continue along the same lines/timeline but I just was stuck as to where to go from the last sentence of this part. 
> 
> That might have been confusing. Shoot. Anyway, enjoy as things start to delve into darker waters. Warning: Things are going to get a little darker and heavy from this point on.

He woke up warm and comfortable. It was a startling change, but he couldn’t quite remember why. He almost had been in a panic before being lead off to recharge. Someone had been with him - oh. That’s why he was warm. Jazz was pressed up against his plating, one arm thrown around Prowl’s waist, vents even while he recharged. _Safe_. That’s what this was - safe from the nightmares, safe from the past that still held him in an iron grip and refused to be laid to rest. Prowl snuggled closer to the other mech and shut off his optics.

Jazz shifted around to stretch out along the berth. He smiled at Prowl, still recharging. The poor Praxian hadn’t been able to rest very much. There was too much paperwork, new supplies to organize, punishments to dole out, tactics to review, calming their security director, dealing with half-baked special operations missions. It was a heavy workload for only one mech. Jazz froze, thoughts grinding to a halt when Prowl moved beside him. His icy optics onlined almost lazily.

“Hello love.”

Prowl’s doorwings rose up into a sleepy ‘hello’ before falling back down into the ‘I’m content’ position. “Jazz.” He stifled a yawn. Jazz settled back down into the comfortable bedding while Prowl carefully climbed to his feet. He gave the lounging silver mech an amused smile. He let his wings settle back into their usual position while checking the time. “You have a shift in less than a joor. It might be wise to think about getting up.”

“Nah,” Jazz managed around a yawn, “I think I’ll stay here. It’s much more comfy.”

Prowl laughed. “Very well. However, I feel that I should remind you that the brig does not have as comfortable berths.”

Jazz leaned forward to rest his weight on his elbows. He raised an optic ridge. “Are ya threatin’ me, Prowler?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“It sounded like a threat ta me.”

“You should have Ratchet check your audials. It would be quite the disaster for you to be unable to listen to that racket you call music.”

“Excuse you,” Jazz held a hand to his spark in mock hurt, “but Blaster thinks it’s music too.”

Actually, at the thought of the red and gold communications officer, Jazz was reminded exactly why he had hunted Prowl down earlier. They needed to talk.

As Prowl continued to move about their quarters, just taking a moment to tidy the room and collect any important datapads, Jazz stared at the wall. He didn’t like to start fights, and while the few fights that they have had were able to be moved past, there was always the chance that this could be the one that broke their relationship. But then he’d be ignoring the way his spark twisted painfully at the thought of Prowl keeping something so important from him. Didn’t they trust each other? Jazz had told the Praxian a great deal of his own past and the Praxian had shared things as well...but nothing that Jazz couldn’t have heard from Smokescreen.

“Hey Prowl?”

“Yes Jazz?” Prowl didn’t appear to be listening, but the perked nature of his doorwings told Jazz otherwise.

Jazz wrung his hands. “I think we need ta have a chat.”

“About what? Is there something wrong?”

“Well, no. Yes. Maybe? I don’t really know.”

Prowl gave him a worried look. He quickly crossed over the room to sit next to Jazz and took his hand. “I’m listening.”

 _Please don’t let me ruin this._ “Someone gave me this.” Jazz pulled the datapad from his subspace and handed it to his confused companion. Prowl tapped it awake and began to read through its contents. He didn’t make it far before he froze.

“Where did you get this?”

Jazz was baffled at the question. Did it really matter? “What?”

“ _Jazz_ , where did you get this?” Prowl’s voice was tinged with some emotion that Jazz couldn’t quite identify.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. I need to know-”

“It doesn’t matter where I got it or who I got it from. What _matters_ is if it’s true.”

Prowl looked up at him, face suddenly stoney. He handed the datapad back and stood. Jazz tucked his legs up under him, leaning forward expectantly. Prowl opened and closed his mouth a few times before sighing and simply saying, “I must go speak with Ratchet.”

Jazz jumped to his feet as the other turned away. He tried to grab Prowl’s arm, but it was wrenched out of his grip. “Prowl!” But it was too late. The Praxian had left Jazz standing in their quarters, spark aching.

* * *

_Jazz knew._

_Primus, Jazz_ knew _._

Prowl wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep the warm fluid welling behind his optics hidden. This wasn’t suppose to happen. No one was suppose to have found those documents, no one was suppose to find out what happened to him, no one was suppose to have passed it along to the base crew, no one was suppose to tell Jazz. _Primus_. The painfully tight constriction of his spark nearly made him sob. It was supposed to be ancient history - nothing more than a nightmare that forced him to go see Smokescreen. Nothing like this.

There were others in the hallway, but Prowl didn’t notice them. Someone might have called after him. A touch to his arm made the Praxian jerk out his thoughts. He spun around to see who had touched him and would have been surprised to see Sunstreaker if he wasn’t still reeling from shock.

Sunstreaker was trying to talk to him. Prowl shook his head and tried to focus on the other. Most of his processor was still attempting to bring his emotion processor back under control, but he managed to catch the yellow twin’s last few words.

“-looking for you. Are you okay?”

“I apologize,” Prowl rubbed a hand over his face, “may you please repeat that?”

The glare he received was softened. “I just said that Sideswipe was looking for you.” He looked his commanding officer over and frowned. “Are you okay? You looked like you were about to fall over.”

“I - yes, I am fine. Thank you for your concern. Why was Sideswipe looking for me?”

“You disappeared from your office and he nearly had a spark attack. He wanted to make sure that you weren’t doing any work that might be too much right now.” Sunstreaker’s rolled optics spoke more of his affection of his ‘soft-sparked’ twin than anything else.

Prowl absent-mindedly nodded. He turned back to continue to the medbay, now with much more awareness of the surroundings and Sunstreaker trailing after him. At least the frontliner snapped and snarled at anyone who approached them. Other than the occasionally grumpy comment from Sunstreaker, the two didn’t talk. It made the walk to the medbay much more bearable than if Prowl was alone with his thoughts. Sunstreaker mentioned waiting for his brother outside the medbay, normally something that would make the SIC suspicious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care if they got into any trouble. Let someone else deal with them.

Prowl stepped into the medbay feeling like he was about to purge.


	6. Confrontation: Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wrestled and bit and clawed at me for the longest time. I'm not particularly happy with it, but I've stared at it for so long I'm just done with it. Sorry for anything funky.

“Ratchet.”

“Prowl? I wasn’t expecting-”

“Office, please. There is a matter we must discuss.”

“Alright, fine. First Aid, keep anyone from trashing the place.”

* * *

 

Prowl waited until Ratchet had leaned against his desk and was staring at him impatiently. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut and glared at the space over Ratchet’s shoulder. What would he even say? Outright accuse him? Demand to know why? The warmth behind his optics was threatening to overtake him and he vehemently fought against it.

“I don’t have a lot of time.”

Okay. Right. Facts, not feelings. Fact always first. “It is correct that you had access to my recently available medical files?”

“Yes,” Ratchet frowned, “is there something wrong?”

“Indeed. It appears that...that the crew now has access to some of those same files.”

Prowl had calculated the various reactions to the statement, but this wasn’t one he’d honestly given much thought to. The medic’s frown deepened, his field went tight with confusion-anger-concern, he pulled away from his desk to stand straight, and fixed Prowl with a penetrating gaze. “The crew has access to your files.” It was not a question, but Prowl nodded anyway.

Ratchet twisted around to dig through the reports and miscellaneous objects strewn across the desk. He carefully removed a datapad from under a hunk of twisted metal that looked as it Wheeljack had gotten to it. The medic handed it to Prowl and he switched it on. “This is what they had?”

Prowl did not spend long skimming through the reports and information. No need to rouse memories that deserve to stay asleep. “Both of these - the report on early damage and then the suspect list.”

“Without the rest of the files, there is no concrete context on what happened. I’m sure they all assumed that you were simply a rough and tumble youngling. You were an enforcer, it would make sense that with your own personal files some of your cases followed.”

“If that was the case,” Prowl’s doorwings drooped, “then I would not be here to discuss it.”

Ratchet’s optics widened. “They know?”

“They assume they know.”

“Prowl, you’ll need to be more specific. What do they think they know?”

Prowl pulled himself back into a formal position and his doorwings arched up. Not anything threatening, but just to signal that he was uncomfortable and needed answers. Ratchet watched with one optic ridge raised as Prowl settled himself. It took a few kliks before the SIC felt like he could force the words into the open.

“You released the information without my consent.”

Once again, Ratchet shocked him with his reaction. There was anger, yes, but not directed at Prowl. Hurt and guilt. Ratchet’s face fell into something cold and stony. “You think I released your personal information?”

“I have calculated-”

“Damn your calculations, Prowl!” Ratchet slammed one hand down and made the Praxian flinch. After that, the medic was careful to avoid startling the obviously stressed mech, but he didn’t change the hardness of his voice. “I would be a sorry excuse for a doctor if I ignored patient confidentiality, especially regarding something this serious.”

That...was a relief actually. Prowl had hated thinking that it was Rachet, but what other option was there? What other reasonable explanation? “Then, please, what other explanation could there be?”

There was silence. Prowl waited, doorwings twitching as Ratchet put a hand to his face and glared at the floor. “Someone could have-”

There was a knock at the door and First Aid’s muffled voice came through.

“Sideswipe! I said that they were busy!”

Ratchet lunged across the office to yank open the door. There was a yelp and then Ratchet dragged Sideswipe into the room with an unamused Sunstreaker trotting in behind them. Ratchet put his hands on his hips and glared at the twins. Sideswipe glanced between Ratchet and Prowl. His optics were lit in distress.

“We’re sorry!”

“Pardon?” Prowl’s doorwings arched in surprise. “You are apologizing for what?”

“We didn’t realize it was something bad, I mean okay maybe, but how likely was that? Besides the datapad was just laying on a berth so-”

“Sideswipe, slow down.”

Sunstreaker popped his head over his brother’s shoulder. “He’s trying to say that we snuck into the medbay and took some files.”

Ratchet’s furious field made everyone flinch. “You what? Sparkless glitches, why the frag-”

“You do realize stealing classified information is a high offense,” Prowl interrupted.

The twins shuffled uncomfortably under the two officers’ gaze. Sideswipe muttered something. Ratchet leaned closer with a scowl. “What was that?”

“I said we didn’t know.”

Prowl had to shoot out a hand to grab onto Ratchet’s desk before the rapid flare and droop of his doorwings sent him to his knees. They all knew. “You know.” His voice was weak.

Sunstreaker’s softening gaze on him was enough. Prowl pushed past the twins and into the medbay, optics searching for a bucket or something. No need to pull apart the remaining shreds of his dignity with purging all over the floor. Luckily, First Aid was still busying himself with cleaning equipment and saw Prowl. It didn’t take the medic-in training much to realize what Prowl was about to do. He dumped a container of sanitizing fluid out and handed it to the Praxian just in time.

* * *

 

After Prowl had fled from their quarters, Jazz had waited until the shift change to see if the Praxian would return. He couldn’t help the anger bubbling up and leaking into his field. The stupid mech had run when confronted. Hadn’t his creators always warned him away from mechs like that? It was too late regardless - he was in love with Prowl and Primus damn it he needed to talk to him. Stupid fragging mech. He stormed out of their quarters to report for his unofficial ‘moral patrol’.

By the time Jazz had made his rounds and ended up in the rec room to grab his ration, everyone had noticed the angry storm following the silver mech. Others left him alone except for a few special ops agents who had to hand in reports. The poor ‘bots would hand it over then book it. No one was happy when around an unhappy Jazz - and that was when he wasn’t attempting to make your life like the Pit.

The rec room cleared out pretty quickly after Jazz’s arrival, something he noticed but didn’t care about. The only other occupants sat at tables furthest away from him. It was the twilight shift anyway so it wasn’t like there were many mechs up and about. Jazz glared into his energon cube and swished it around while he angrily mused over his conversation - if you can call it that - with Prowl. Stupid mech. This didn’t have to be such a big deal. So what? Everyone interfaced at least one - Primus, Jazz had been known for it! Maybe the fact that everyone on base now knew had startled him? Prowl was always trying so hard to keep himself from getting dragged through the mud and it already happened often enough without any rumors flying around.

Jazz was jolted out of his thoughts by a red and gold mech throwing himself into the seat across the table. Blaster leaned forward, elbows on the table and face resting on his hands. Jazz scowled at this friend. “I really don’t feel up ta being chatty, Blaster.”

“Mech, there is obviously something bothering you so spit it out. I even made sure to send the kids off to go help Jack and Percy.”

Jazz flopped forward and pressed his face into his hands before throwing his arms into the air with an angry exclamation of, “It’s slaggin’ Prowl! I don’t know what’s gotten into ‘im, but I’m this close to draggin’ him by the doorwings and lockin’ him in the supply room until he actually talks to me.”

“Harsh. What happened?”

“This basically,” Jazz withdrew the now infamous datapad and dropped it on the table, “I showed it to ‘im and he freaked out. Just booked it right out of the room. Said he had to talk with Ratchet or whatever.”

“He just ran?”

“Yeah. Just poof! Gone.”

Blaster frowned and tapped out a random rhythm on the table top. “Did you say anything to him?”

“Just that we needed ta talk. He kepting askin’ where I’d got it which was a little weird I guess. I told ‘im that it didn’t matter where I got it from, just whether it was true or not. I thought he was gonna actually spill for a klik but instead he just makes an excuse and leaves.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that-”

“I know. I’m just pissed that he didn’t tell me in the first place, ya know? I mean - I’ve told ‘im my life story, includin’ past lovers. I trusted ‘im enough to tell ‘im about myself. He told me he hadn’t been in a relationship before - nevermind one that was intimate - and then this shows up? He lied to me - more than once.”

Blaster sighed. “I warned you about him. He’s nothing more than logic, Jazz. If the numbers tell him that he’ll lose your interest by being honest, he’ll lie. That’s all there is to it. Prowl doesn’t have an emotional center like us. I don’t think he even has one.”  
Jazz wanted to protest, but he kept his mouth shut. His anger at the black and white Praxian was shrieking agreement. It was easy to ignore the part that was demanding that there was something more. Jazz shrugged and let Blaster reach across the table to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “What do I do now? I’ll probably punch ‘im if I see him any time soon.”

“As much as I’d love to see that,” Blaster laughed, “maybe you should just go recharge.” If anything, that only made Jazz slid down his seat with a face of absolute misery.

Blaster squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry, mech.”

“I love ‘im, ya know. I thought he felt the same.”

“If he even could have the capacity to love something-”

“Blaster, thanks, but I’m going to go and see if I can remember my quarter’s entrance code.” Jazz leaned back with a sad smile. He sighed and slid out of the chair and into a stretch. His optics were bright and his field practically screamed hurt-anger. Blaster narrowed his optics at his friend. Jazz caught the look and gave him a calculating glance. “Don’t do anythin’, ‘kay? I wanna handle Prowl without any of you tryin’ to interfere.”

“Sure Jazz,” Blaster grumbled, “no problem.” But as he watched Jazz’s shuffled walk out of the rec room, Blaster immediately knew he’d put his all into making life hell for the mech who broke his friend’s spark.


	7. Not Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggering situation below! Please read with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Two chapters for today? Amazing!  
> I actually just really hated the last chapter and felt like you all deserve something more. So here's the next chapter! It's just filler more or less, but please read with caution as there many be triggering events below. Nothing graphic or explicit!

Red Alert watched his friend’s doorwings twitch anxiously. It may not have been noticeable by anyone who wasn’t familiar with Praxian body language, but after spending so much time with Prowl, Red Alert considered himself an expert. The security director was anxious himself. This was the third time - _the third time_ \- that Prowl had tried to talk to Jazz when they ran into each other in the hallway. At first they had avoided each other like a plague and when Prowl finally reached out, Jazz ignored him or another walking with the TIC shot Prowl a furious, hateful glare that would make the Praxian’s wings tremble. This time was no different with the exception that Red Alert had heard what the other mech had hissed at the Praxian. _Sparkless drone_.

Jazz did nothing.

Red had immediately sent Inferno to go and escort Prowl to his office. The poor black and white looked near a breakdown. Rumors had been flying all the more wildly lately and they were clearly upsetting the normal stoic mech. That’s what had Red Alert worried. Being called sparkless, uncaring, unfeeling, a drone - it hurt Prowl. The last time someone had said it to his faceplates, Prowl had been sure to assign the ‘bot to back to back shifts and odd off duty periods. No one had said anything directly to him again. But something had stirred the troops up enough to risk Prowl’s wrath. Based on what Red had seen, Prowl was more likely to droop his doorwings and cry than come up with creative punishments. It wasn’t normal and it was terrifying to see.

Yes, Prowl’s recent actions had been worrying, but what really had Red Alert concerned was Jazz walking past and _allowing_ hateful things to be said to the SIC. With Prowl’s brother gone, Red Alert stuck in the security room and Inferno with him, that left no one who would try to defend Prowl from angry accusations and hurtful remarks. Red Alert just hoped that whatever had happened would smooth itself out before someone snapped.

* * *

 

Prowl was terrified. He was helpless. He didn’t like being helpless - it was too much like- _no_. Don’t think about it. It was already tearing apart his processor and invading his recharge time. He hadn’t gotten a good recharge since Ironhide had approached him.

Another mech shot him a glare. Prowl fought to keep his wings from quivering. The hateful looks, the mocking, crude words - Prowl felt sick. He would have hidden in Prime’s office if his leader hadn’t left to go to see a powerful Neutral who could be an ally. Prowl should have insisted on going. It would have been safer for Optimus _and_ helped Prowl avoid the painful memories swarming him. Instead, he was here and trying to avoid all contact with the other Autobots stationed at Iacon. It was incredibly difficult when Inferno did not randomly appear to guide him through corridors that were seldom used. Prowl made a note to thank Red Alert and Inferno.

He wished Inferno would pop out from a room and greet him with a large smile and welcoming field. Nothing at all like the _hate-anger-disgust_ that he ran into.

Prowl froze when he felt someone reach out to stroke his doorwings. The Praxian spun around, desperately fighting to keep the fear from his field and keep the stony, unimpressed commanding officer presence. Groove grinned at him and leaned down so that his breath battered Prowl’s faceplates. _Highgrade._ Wonderful.

“Heya, handsome!”

Prowl shoved the larger mech away much to the other’s amusement. “I recommend returning to your quarters before you do something stupid while overcharged.” It didn’t dissuade Groove to leave the Praxian alone. Instead his grin grew more lewd.

“Maybe you should join me, hm?”

Prowl snapped his mouth shut, swallowing an angry rebuke. Panic was beginning to swirl around his processor and his doorwings dipped enough for Groove to see with a smug expression. He stepped forward, making Prowl step back to avoid getting too close. “And they said I couldn’t do it!”

Prowl’s wings flattened against the wall and he desperately glanced around. Groove noticed the look and frowned before beaming once again. “Worried someone will see us? Don’t worry, pretty bot, let’s just move to my quarters and no one will have to know.”

“Groove, please step back.” Prowl hated how his voice trembled.

“Nervous? I’m bigger than Jazz, sure, but nothing you can’t handle, yeah?”

“No,” Prowl weakly flared his doorwings. “I mean step back and cease your actions.” The panic was nearly preventing him from speaking. It was all consuming and he hated it.

Groove frowned. “You don’t want to ‘face? Ah, Prowl-”

“Back off, Groove!” A voice snarled from further down the hallway.

* * *

 

Red Alert watched what was happening with growing apprehension. Prowl looked terrified out of his mind. Groove clearly wasn’t getting the hint. Red Alert frantically tried to get his mate’s attention, but Inferno was completely out in recharge. There’d be no waking him. So, Red Alert turned to the nearest mechs with the desperate hope that they’d be able to get Groove away from Prowl.

::Prowl - corridor a seven.::

The confused answer was immediately cut off by an angry exclamation out loud.

* * *

 

Sunstreaker flashed in Prowl’s vision and then suddenly was filling it as he shoved Groove away. Sideswipe ran past to snarl at the mech, who just stared at the twins in shock. Sunstreaker grabbed onto Prowl’s shoulders and gave him a little shake.

“You still with us?”

Prowl shuttered his optics and took a deep in-vent. He nodded silently. He could still hear Sideswipe snapping obscenities that would put Ratchet to shame. Sunstreaker’s grip was tight, but gentle. Prowl onlined his optics when the yellow frontliner began to lead him away. An angry hiss from behind then Sideswipe was on his other side, field open with concern.

“Hey! You aren’t gonna let them just get away with that right? That’s provoked assault or something!”

“Shut up, Groove, before I do it for you.” Sunstreaker’s voice was low and deadly. Groove was wisely silent.

The twins lead Prowl towards his quarters, quietly talking to him. Prowl wasn’t really with them, still stuck in his head and replaying everything over. It wasn’t Groove anymore. It was demons from a long time ago, angry words and painful touches. Prowl shivered.

The twins exchanged worried looks over the Praxian’s head.


	8. Struggling Battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I have to look at this chapter again I'm going to either a) die, b) kill someone or c) lose my breakfast. Ugh.
> 
> Enjoy anyway!

What happened with Groove was no longer a single incident. Others were soon eager to try their luck and Prowl was immediately grateful for the protection the twins offered. He honestly would have preferred to have his brother back so that he could hide out in Smokescreen’s quarters and have someone he was comfortable talking to, but with Smokescreen out on a mission - a special operations sanctioned mission that Prowl was too terrified to ask Jazz for information on the team - that left very few others that were willing to step in and support him. Red Alert and Inferno were gifts from Primus, surprising him with commed directions that would keep him from the troops, and the twins escorted him anywhere he needed to go, keeping everyone at bay with glares that promised violence. Prowl knew he should probably tell them off, the chances of them actually starting a fight were nearly absolute, but he didn’t have the strength to. Why scold the barrier that was keeping him from the worst of the storm? Then there was Ratchet. The medic had given him the access code for his office and the medbay incase the Praxian had to duck out of a situation. Prowl’s overrides would have granted him access, but the gesture nearly made him tear up. 

Prowl hastily tapped in the code for the medbay, which was currently locked while the medbay team were off to recharge after a long orn of repairing battle wounds. There were voices echoing down the hall, approaching him and blocking him from getting back to his office. The twins swept in right behind him. As they entered, there was a startled exclamation from deeper among the berths and equipment then a clank of something falling to the floor. Prowl immediately froze while the twins were quick to jump in front of him. They all relaxed when Ratchet stood up and glared at them. Prowl gave the medic an amused, but small smile. “No one was harmed.”

Ratchet sighed. “Certainly not a social call either.”

“I apologize. We will leave as soon as the hallway has been cleared out in our direction.” Prowl approached the berth that Ratchet was half hidden behind. “But while we are here, is there anything that you need? I haven’t gotten an updated supply list from the medbay since the last battle. Tygre Pax’s route is currently open and it would be wise to get supplies while it remains so.”

“Actually, I got some inventory lists in my office. Aid just finished his third inventory check and wrote up what we need. Hook and I already each took a look and wrote a report on it, but the more information the better for you.”

Ratchet led Prowl back into his office while the twins threw themselves onto berths. They both grumbled about being bored, but the officers either didn’t hear them or ignored their complaints. Most likely ignored them - it wasn’t a difficult task after living with such complaints for such a long while. At the lack of response, Sideswipe huffed and turned to his favorite pastime. How long Sunstreak could ignore his comments on paint imperfections. It usually didn’t take much more than a few kliks. Prowl deliberately arched one wing in warning. 

As Ratchet grumbled about this and that, Prowl kept his mouth shut. He was practically inside the other mech’s field, but the medic hadn’t said anything about it yet. It helped to be so close to someone that Prowl knew he could trust, someone that wasn’t about to whip around with some smug comment or lewd request, as pathetic as that sounded. Ratchet hadn’t made a degrading comment on the rumors or viewed the small Praxian with any hate for whatever Jazz had said. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. That was what he was now. Not a respected tactician or the Autobot second in command. Prowl’s doorwings twitched in distress. Everything had come crumbling down and he had no one else to blame but himself.

It was the change in Ratchet’s field from slight annoyance to a sudden alertness that caught Prowl’s attention more than the medic’s huff. “Ah, my apologies, Ratchet. May you repeat that?”

“I asked if you wanted all of the inventory lists or just mine.”

Prowl bowed his head sheepishly. “All of the recorded information if that is acceptable.”

Ratchet busied himself with digging out the reports out of the mess of other datapads and other miscellaneous bits and ends. A broken mechanical component was gently set on the berth behind the heavy-laden desk. Prowl couldn’t help the slight smile. Wheeljack and Ratchet were an interesting couple. They took over each other’s spaces, but not in any distracting way or through a distrubance. Wheeljack’s broken inventions, parts, and tools often ended up in Ratchet’s office after having lost them much like a misbehaving sparkling has their toy taken from them. It wasn’t exactly vice versa as someone would most likely be smelted into spare parts if any medical equipment took a trip from the medbay. It was Ratchet, himself that tended to appear in Wheeljack’s lab. The medic had started to let Hook and First Aid take care of the medbay while he lent a hand with his conjunx’s wild creations. 

Funny how most of the couples in the base somehow managed to stick together through thick and thin. Why hadn’t Prowl’s relationship struggled to remain afloat? Was...was it destined to fall apart even if something like this hadn’t happened?

Prowl angrily forced his doorwings still, although he missed the fact that one pede was bouncing up and down in a decidedly Bluestreak fashion. Ratchet only raised an optic ridge at the behavior when he handed over the inventory lists. Prowl quickly scanned through them before subspacing them with a grateful nod. Before he could head back out to gather up his escort, however, Ratchet carefully laid a hand on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl glanced over his shoulder in surprise. 

“Have you tried talking to him?”

“No,” Prowl’s voice was almost a whisper. He looked away from the medic’s optics. 

“Why not? Shouldn’t you be in touch anyhow? With Smokescreen on a mission and everything-”

“I do not interfere with any of the special operations sanctioned missions unless requested or it is a critical situation. I merely consult on tactical evaluations.”

“Prowl.” Ratchet’s field turned from concerned to something almost murderous. “That’s slag and we both know it. You’re privy to much more than basic mission essentials, not to mention this is your brother who is off scouting Primus knows where.”

“Regardless, even should I be able to stomach talking to Jazz, I highly doubt that I will be able to find him or catch him longer enough for a discussion such as the one you are implying.”

The medic’s field calmed into concern once more. He clearly wished to help, but Prowl was not about to drag another down with him even if there was something Ratchet could have done. When it looked like Ratchet was about to add something, Prowl cut him off with a soft, “If I can manage to run across him, I will ask to talk to him.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ratchet mumbled as he released the Praxian. 

Prowl immediately hurried back out into the medbay and out into the hallway without checking if it was empty. The twins rushed after him after sharing a confused look and a searching one at Ratchet.

* * *

 

Jazz was surprised at how easily things had slid into place after his rant to Blaster. He hadn’t expected the mech to keep to his promise to not start anything, but surprise! The officer somehow managed to avoid tearing Prowl’s doorwings off. Kudos to the mech for that. It seemed that everyone had a bone to pick with the SIC and after some of the things he’d heard, Prowl was lucky to even to alive. Jazz felt oddly comforted by the fact that the whole base had risen to their pedes to ‘protect’ him. It wasn’t necessary of course, but hey, who could blame him for enjoying the love for a klik?

There was a ping on his comm that alerted him to Prowl’s presence further down the hallway.  _ Slag!  _ It seemed that he couldn’t avoid the Praxian and he had been doing so well at it before! There were some suspicions on who was helping Prowl find him -  _ Red Alert _ \- and Jazz did not appreciate the paranoid mech’s constant watch on them. So what if he wanted to keep away from the slag-eating fragger who decided to break his spark? It had hurt when Red Alert had first approached him to thoroughly chew him out about Prowl. Hadn’t Red been his friend too? 

Regardless of whether the stupid security mech was watching or not, Jazz needed to move before he ran into Prowl. He immediately spun on his heel and marched back down the way he came. The pinging didn’t stop until Jazz had all but sprinted into the officers’ wing and into his office. Door safely locked behind him, the silver mech leaned up against the door in time to hear whisper-light pede steps walk past and stop in front of Prowl’s office. A swish of a door opening and a brief snippet of a muffled voice before all was silent again. That was a close one. Jazz sighed and stood up to stretch. 

He had just left his office and on the way to the rec room when he found himself cornered by Prowl. Huh, even when they can’t stand in the same room with each other, Prowl sends him off to do his paperwork. How thoughtful of the Praxian. Jazz threw himself into his chair and angrily tapped a stylus against the desk. All of the paperwork for the last returned mission had already been taken care of and filed away for the tactical unit to go over. Prowl was just getting his greedy hands on everything of Jazz’s lately. With a huff, Jazz kicked out against the wall and spun around in his chair, legs drawn up and glaring at the world spinning by. 

Another ping startled him enough to cause him to stick out his legs and suddenly halt his ride. For a moment his gyros whirled about in distress before he could make out up and down again. Fully expecting the ping to be about Prowl or Blaster checking in, Jazz barely gave it a glance - at least until he recognized Mirage’s comm signature. With a brilliant grin, Jazz shoved his chair across the room to his terminal and hurriedly connected to Mirage’s ping. A few blueprints and a good collection of field reports were received and a message that  stank of Smokescreen reading,  _ ‘Break out the highgrade when we get back. P.S. You owe me some shanix, Jazzy.’ _

Jazz leaned back with another wide smile. Scouting mission successful and with a few added perks with Mirage’s unauthorized sneaking around. As long as Prowl didn’t find out, who cared - information is information regardless of how it was, ah, stolen. 

For a moment Jazz felt his spark constrict.  _ Information is information, huh?  _


	9. Brother Dearest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but that's what happens when part of the chapter demands to be smushed in with the previous one.
> 
> Enjoy some brotherly moments this time on Penetralia!

“Home!” Smokescreen yelled as he jumped off the transport and fell to his knees to pat the ground. Mirage was much more graceful on his landing and gave the bright Praxian a sidelong look of amusement. “I’m  _ so  _ tired of being on transports - no offense, Skyfire - and nasty field rations.”

Smokescreen looked up with a wide smile just as Skyfire huffed and transformed. The transformation kicked dust all over the other’s frame. “Skyfire!”

“Careful, Smokes,” someone called, “get too upset about it and you’ll turn into Sunstreaker.”

“Oh! Nice one.” Smokescreen laughed. Mirage rolled his optics and began to walk towards the base with his companion scampering alongside him. The walk wasn’t too far, only from the docks and through a small courtyard to reach the Autobot headquarters. Mirage only half-listened to Smokescreen’s comments on this or that as they walked, more focused on his conjunx’s voice over his comm. Smokescreen figured as much - those two were inseparable except for when one got sent out - and didn’t care. He probably would have been silent and otherwise focused if his slagging brother would only answer his comm. 

Mirage disappeared the moment they entered the base. Most likely either to go report to Jazz or sneak a moment with Hound. Smokescreen wandered the halls, saying hello and chatting to a few mechs who passed, as he slowly worked his way towards Prowl’s quarters. Much to his surprise, a hand latched onto his upper arm and spun him around. He found himself face to face with a beaming Pipes. 

“Hey-”   


“Have you heard about your brother yet?”

“What about him?”

Pipes snickered and leaned in to mock whisper, “He broke Jazz’s spark in two. They got into a fight and Prowl left.”

Smokescreen’s optics widened in shock. Wait, what? The last time he had been threatening to kick Jazz’s aft to Luna-2 and back, Prowl had admitted to wanting to bond with him -  _ not  _ breaking it off. “You’re not serious.”

“A hundred and ten percent! Someone got ahold of a file or something and it was all about who Prowl had ‘faced with in the past and Jazz got upset since Prowl never told him anything like that and so Blaster is super happy because he apparently called it or something like that. I think they’ve been avoiding each other since. Oh! And you missed Groove getting his face punched in by the twins. He tried to ask Prowl to, you know, spend the night and Prowl wasn’t having it so Groove was trying to convince him and then bam! The twins were there and Sunny took him down and Sides threatened him. The best part though? Prowl didn’t reprimand the twins! I’ve heard others say that one of them must be together with him - it’s a good theory I guess. Prowl never lets anyone get away with a stunt like that.”

Poor Pipes didn’t even know what hit him. As the small mech laid on the floor, totally out of it, Smokescreen snarled. How dare they? They don’t know what Prowl went through.  _ How fragging dare they? _ Good mood now nothing more than a distant memory, Smokescreen marched down the hall towards the rec room to demand answers. 

The clamor of so many voices packed into a to small space nearly shortened his audials. It took a moment for Smokescreen to reorient himself then narrow in on a target. Luckily, Blaster was sitting at a table just a few feet away. And would you look at that! Jazz was right across from him, snorting at a joke the red and gold officer was telling. A predatory gleam danced in the elder Praxian brother’s optics as he wove his way towards them. He got stopped a few times by a few welcome homes although most seemed to realize he was set on a mission and bugging him would be suicide. Or maybe they didn’t notice him. Didn’t matter to Smokescreen as long as he could get to his targets and  _ kill  _ them. 

So focused on trying to get through the room, it took him a moment to notice that the room had gone quiet. He blinked and peered around his shoulder. The twins were standing in the room, glaring at everyone and a twinkling promise of  _ pain  _ in their optics. As Smokescreen began to frown in confusion, his brother stepped in from the hallway. The frown immediately transformed into a wide grin. 

“Prowlie,” Smokescreen pushed his way to his brother and enveloped him in a crushing hug. “What’s going on?”

Prowl briefly returned the affection before stepping back. “Why don’t we talk somewhere less public? Surely so much excitement is tiring for you after just returning.”

Smokescreen didn’t miss the way Prowl’s brilliant blue optics were dark and shadowed. They slid past him and widened at the sight of Jazz. Oh, the special ops mech was going to die.  _ Slowly  _ and  _ painfully _ . “Good idea.” He ushered Prowl out of the room. When the twins followed them into the hallway, Smokescreen snarled at them. Didn’t they have better things to do than annoy Prowl?

“Calm down, they are merely assisting me.”

“Assisting? Why? Did they finally snap or something?”

Sunstreaker glared right back and his twin rolled his optics. Prowl laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Nothing like that. They have been a great help without any insistence on my part.”

At first the idea was shocking. The twins willingly follow around the prank disipliner?  _ Oh! And you missed Groove getting his face punched in by the twins. He tried to ask Prowl to, you know, spend the night and Prowl wasn’t having it so Groove was trying to convince him and then bam!  _ Pipes’ words suddenly made a world of sense. A surge of gratefulness gripped his spark. He hadn’t been here to rip someone’s head off, but at least it seemed the two frontliners were more than willing to. Smokescreen was interested in why, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Prowl lead them down an empty side corridor that opened up in the officer’s wing. He keyed in his code and stepped back to allow everyone in. Sideswipe immediately threw himself onto the couch while Sunstreaker went to go poke around at things. “You look comfy,” Smokescreen remarked as Sideswipe stretched out and arranged himself so that he took up the entire couch. 

“I was surprised Prowl would have something so comfortable in his quarters.” Prowl’s look of unamusement made both mechs chuckle. 

Prowl dragged a chair from by his terminal. Smokescreen sat down and leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands. Prowl perched on the edge of the couch. His little brother was obviously uncomfortable. Just what had happened while he was gone?

“What happened?”

Prowl glanced away and released a steadying ex-vent. “I was in medbay after a crash and Ratchet was unable to figure out the cause. He knew I had files that were beyond his reach and that I would not give him authorization for them so he went to Prime. It was not hard for him to connect the dots.” Prowl winced. “The files were leaked out to the public. Most drew their own conclusions and they have been rather...vocal about it.”

“What do you mean the files were leaked? Who could have gotten them?”

Unseen by either of the brothers, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged a nervous look. Prowl shrugged his doorwings. “We do not know for certain.” The frontliners exchanged a silent breath of relief. There would be no murderous Praxian set on them. For today at least.

Smokescreen glowered at the floor. “So basically, Jazz chose to listen to the rumormill and not your side of the story.”

“Ah,” Prowl tapped his fingers on his thigh, “not necessarily. I panicked when he tried to ask me about it. Jazz does not know the truth.”

“Prowl-”

“There was a reason I had everything sealed and a reason I did not bring this up with him. It was in the past and that is where it should have stayed.”

“Then why did you crash?”

Prowl froze. Smokescreen frowned and rubbed his palms against his forehead. “You saw one of them?”

“They were similar in appearance.”

To Prowl’s surprise, his brother suddenly pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, Prowlie.”

Prowl returned the gesture, arms tight around Smokescreen. “For what?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“I should have been there for you. I should have been  _ here  _ for you.”

Prowl didn’t release him and simply buried his faceplates against the taller mech’s chest. With a weak chuckle, he added, “So you could kick their afts to Luna-2 and back?”

“I still can. Frag it, I just might.”

“There is no need to. This will blow over eventually.”   


Sunstreaker threw himself down on the couch, crushing his brother under his weight. “Prowl, I don’t think this is going to ‘blow over’. No one knows much about you in the first place and then a juicy detail like this pops out?”

“Yeah,” Sideswipe’s voice was muffled, “Blaster probably would keep it alive purely out of spite.”

The devastated face of his little brother was more than enough to rip out his spark, but the way Prowl’s icy optics darkened to something almost black made Smokescreen murderous. They were going to pay for inflicting this on him - whether they knew the truth or not.


	10. Please Shut Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grammer in this went crazy. I've looked it over and my beta has and it's a little annoying haha.
> 
> Here we go, Jazz and Smokey take the stage!

Jazz hadn’t mentioned the murderous intent that was radiating from Smokescreen when he had barged into the rec room earlier with stoney determined optics and twitching doorwings. Everyone had either missed the signs of the Praxian about to set off on a warpath or they had simply ignored him. Either way, Jazz would probably have dealt with him considering Smokescreen attempted to make a beeline for him before Prowl had popped in. He never thought he’d ever say it again, but he couldn’t help but feel a little grateful for the younger Praxian dragging his brother off. Smokescreen hadn’t been looking for a friendly sparring match - he was ready to rip a mech apart. 

It had taken a little longer for him to come up with the exact reason  _ why  _ his agent would have been so angry, but when it finally clicked Jazz groaned and thunked his head against the table. Blaster jumped a little at the sudden noise. 

“What?”

“Smokescreen’s gonna wanna kill us.”

Blaster’s optics narrowed before flashing white. He hunched down and grumbled, “Frag. Stupid Praxians and their stupid family bonds or whatever.” Jazz tried to stifle the chuckle, he really did, but it escaped anyway. Blaster glared at him and huffed. “Fine! But if he tracks me down, I’m pointing fingers at you.”

“Relax,” Jazz grinned, “I’m sure once he hears what happened, he’ll be fine.”

“Sure.” Blaster rolled his optics, but at least he seemed pacified. Jazz made a mental note that when he went to check up on his two returned agents to snag their reports, he’d have to be careful with Smokescreen. While Mirage tended to spend time with hound, the bright Praxian always spent the orn after he got back with Prowl. If Jazz wanted to avoid the black and white then he’d either have to wait for Smokescreen to report back or he could try and drag the elder away for a moment. He could explain things then before Smokes could punch his face in...hopefully.

Blaster stood and stretched, dislodging a grumpy Steeljaw. “I’m going to recharge. Early shift for me tomorrow.”

Jazz smirked, “Have fun with that while the rest of us are happily tucked away in our berths.”

Blaster left after sticking his glossa out. Jazz leaned back in his chair and checked his comm. Mirage hadn’t tried to get in touch, probably too busy with Hound at the moment, and Smokescreen was oddly silent. With a sinking spark, Jazz frowned and jumped to his feet to hurry out into the hallway and towards the officer’s wing. Looked like he had better snap to the conversation with Smokescreen before the wanna-be shrink decided he didn’t want to hear anything Jazz said. He walked past Prowl’s quarters to his own, audials dialed up when he heard voices from inside. Prowl and Smokey obviously, but a muffled voice that sounded suspiciously like Sunstreaker.  _ Great, called in the calvary.  _

Jazz grumbled a curse and fled back to the relative safety of his quarters. He threw himself down on his berth and waited. He waited until Sunstreaker and Sideswipe left joors later and if the two Praxians were stilling talking, it was quiet enough to go unheard through the wall - much to Jazz’s slight disappointment. So when finally,  _ finally  _ Smokescreen was heard leaving, Jazz scrambled to his pedes and darted out into the hallway before his door had even opened halfway.

“Smokey!” 

The brightly colored mech turned and gave Jazz a frosty stare. “Yes?”

“I know I usually give ya guys a little time before havin’ to hand over reports-”

“It’s waiting in your office.”

“Oh, great!” Jazz trailed off, but hurriedly continued when it seemed the other was no longer willing to even fake interest in the conversation. “Mind if I walk with ya?”

“Yes.”

Holy Primus the mech was stone cold. Sure, Smokescreen could get downright scary-serious, but this was something different. It wasn’t even the ‘hurt my brother and I’ll kill you’ act Jazz was treated to occasionally. No, this was more like ‘I’m gonna kill you in your recharge consequences be damned’ kind of thing. Jazz forced himself to keep in step with the other - Smokescreen apparently was trying to keep a pace ahead of him and it was annoying. With a sigh, Jazz simply began, “Look, Smokey. I don’t know what ya heard or what ya think ya might-”

“Shut up. I’m trying really hard not to rip you apart circuit by circuit - you can thank Prowl for that - so just frag off.”

And with that Smokescreen left a stunned Jazz frozen in the middle of the hallway. By the time Jazz had fully digested the other’s words and had gotten over the fact that  _ his agent _ had point-blank threatened him, and rather violently, the Praxian had disappeared around a corner.

* * *

It didn’t come as a surprise that on the following orn, when Jazz confronted Smokescreen about his insane behavior he snapped. The conversation - a very heated conversation - erupted into a fight that was only lacking physical violence due to the fact that they were in the middle of the main hallway and mechs were surrounding them with eager curiosity on their faceplates. This was a matter between the two of them and there was no need or desire to drag anyone else into a vicious fistfight or the like.

“Are you fragging serious? Of course, I’m pissed at you! Do you have any idea the Pit you’ve been putting Prowl through?”

“The Pit  _ I’ve  _ been puttin’ him through? Last time I checked he was-”

“You don’t know a thing about him so shut up. Just shut the frag up and stay away from him.”

Jazz sneered, “Not a problem.” He spun on his heel to march away only to freeze when Smokescreen let out a ex-vent.

“And I thought you cared about him. I was honestly happy for you two and this is what you do? Huh. I guess Prowl should have listened to me after all.”

Jazz turned around and met steely optics with a laser-sharp glare. “What?”

“I was right from the beginning - Prowl wasn’t anything more than a tally on your scoreboard.”

“I fragging  _ loved  _ him! I would have done anything for him!”

“I find myself doubting that.”

“I cared about Prowl more than anyone,” Jazz growled. His opponent rolled his optics. For a klik, Jazz thought it was over then Smokescreen suddenly snarled and stepped forward. Jazz stood still as stone, watching the furious Praxian, his own anger rolling in his tanks and threatening to release itself on the other.  Smokescreen was getting much too close to Jazz’s personal space. He could practically feel the mech’s field radiating from his plating. 

“You’re doing a fine job of showing it then! Letting the rest of these slagging morons act like that towards him - you’re ignoring all of the obvious signs!”

Jazz barely managed to stop himself from recoiling. “Obvious signs, huh? Like what?”

“He’s skittish by nature,” Smokescreen seemed to deflate a bit as he spoke, “I can understand that, but you didn’t try to ask him why he was nervous about your relationship?”

“Like he’d tell me.”

“There you go again! He didn’t lie to you!”

“Smokescreen, I don’t think this is any of yer business.”

Smokescreen’s engine growled. “He’s my little brother. If something’s bothering him, then it’s my problem.”

“Well, if this whole thing was botherin’ ‘im, why didn’t he try and stop it?”

Smokescreen was silent. The Praxian’s glare could have melted through Jazz’s plating. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know why he didn’t do anything.”

Ah ha! “Because there was nothin’ to bother him. He lied to me. Prowl fraggin’  _ lied  _ to me, Smokey, and so don’t ya dare defend him for that.” Jazz earned a renewed glare for that. But really, why was Smokescreen even trying? Prowl was in the wrong. Move on, maybe go talk to him, get Jazz and Prowl to talk to each other for Primus’ sakes. But defend Prowl? Sure, family ties and all that, but this was ridiculous. Smokescreen should know better! You don’t defend someone who just tore down everything that they had worked to build!

Smokescreen looked like he was about to say something, but the crowd surrounding them parted to allow a stoney-faced Prowl through. The SIC was not happy if the twitching of his wings were anything to go by. “Smokescreen, Jazz. You are interrupting a tactical meeting as well as becoming a nuisance.”

“Just tell Jazz here that you aren’t at fault, then I’m more than willing to walk away.” 

Jazz huffed at Smokescreen’s plea. Prowl glanced between the two, sighed, then spun on his heel to march out of the crowd with a dip of a wing to signal for the two others to follow. They didn’t speak as they followed Prowl towards his office. Smokescreen hesitated outside the door. 

“Prowl-”

“Smokescreen, it would be wise for you to keep your mouth shut.” Prowl sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. He glared at his brother for a moment before shifting towards Jazz. “What exactly were you arguing about?”

“You.”

“Please be more specific.”

“Does it matter?”

“If you wish to avoid an extended brig time, then yes, it does.”

Jazz copied Prowl’s closed off movement and glared through his visor. Why should he talk about it? There was no reason to when the mech they were snapping about earlier was right in front of them and already knew the answers. Smokescreen was not impressed with Jazz’s display. The eldest Praxian spun to face Prowl and waved a hand at Jazz.

“See? I don’t understand why-”

“Smokescreen.”

“What? I told you that it would be a bad idea, but why listen to your older brother, huh?”

“ _ Smokescreen _ .”

“ _ Prowl _ .”

Prowl sighed and slid off his desk to his pedes. “Very well. I believe it would be in everyone’s best interest if you both try to calm down. Escort yourselves to the brig. If I hear any word of you disobeying orders I will send Ironhide to ensure that you make it there safely.”

The SIC shooed them out and watched them until they had rounded the corner, still glaring at the other. Once they were out of sight, Prowl shut the door and leaned back against it. He angrily rubbed his face and told himself that fluid was trailing down one cheek. It was getting...too much for him to handle.

* * *

 

Smokescreen was silent the entire way to the brig, but the glares he kept giving Jazz were poisonous. Jazz returned them with venomous looks of his own. The poor bot sitting at the desk stationed before entering the brig was clearly surprised to see them, but didn’t stop them. He simply stared after them with optic ridges drawn in confusion. 

Jazz smacked the controls for his cell and huffed as he threw himself onto the berth in the corner. Smokescreen had disappeared into his own cell across from him. Jazz was determined to ignore the Praxian. 

At least, until there were sniffles coming from the opposite cell. Jazz edged forward until he could see further into the Praxian’s cell. He was probably going to regret this. “Smokey?”

“Someone else could have gone on the mission instead of me then Prowl wouldn’t have been alone and I could have stopped this and-”

“Smokescreen?”

An angry roar of Smokescreen’s engine drowned out everything else Jazz had begun to ask. “Shut up! This is your fault!”

“How the frag is it  _ my  _ fault?”

“Why didn’t you ask him about it?”

“I did,” Jazz huffed. “He booked it as soon as I tried.”

There was a scrape and then Smokescreen moved out of the shadows. His optics were dull. “I know, but if you were suddenly faced with explaining the cause of horrid trauma to him would you have been able to face him?”

Jazz’s silence was answer enough.

“It was horrible, Jazz. I couldn’t do anything to help him then and now I’m just as useless. What kind of brother am I?”

He didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know. If he had been wrong - just the thought made Jazz’s tanks churn unhappily. Oh Primus, had he messed up?

“What happened?”

Smokescreen looked away. “I’m only telling you what I know happened and only because I expect you to ask Prowl yourself and there’s no way he’d say anything unless you had an idea of what happened. Do you understand?” Jazz nodded and leaned forward. Smokescreen sighed and gave Jazz one last fierce glare. “But if you spread this like those slagging idiotic rumors then I’m going to kill you.”


	11. Times Gone By

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tried to kill me in my sleep several times, I swear. This chapter was just...man, what's a word that's like difficult times seven hundred? Anyways, just a heads-up that this chapter contains flashbacks and I tried to organize them and separate them from the present as best I could, so if it's confusing or such, lemme know so I can play with it. I'm vague on what exactly happened to Prowler (of course, some of you have guessed already), but I promise that all will be revealed soon.
> 
> NOTE: I used IDW's pre-war officer of some sort Orion Pax instead of the usual archivist or librarian. Just an FYI.
> 
> Good news! School is out and I am bedridden for the next week so I can focus on writing! Expect some Warm-Ups and Silence in the Shadows chapters soon!
> 
> Thank you guys for your love and support (and patience)! It means the world to me. You're all wonderful!

It was with Smokey’s defeated sigh that Jazz’s eagerness faded into concern. Whatever had happened must have been bad - at least based off the way Smokescreen’s body slumped and his optics focused on something just the left of his cellmate before starting. Jazz hesitantly leaned forward more and gave a hum of encouragement to him after a few failed attempts to begin.

“I hadn’t noticed soon enough,” Smokescreen mumbled, “I’m his _brother_. I should have noticed.”

“Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been your fault, ya know?” The unspoken tension hung in the air. Smokescreen rubbed at his face and gave Jazz a deadened look.

“You won’t spread this?”

“Mech, I already told ya I wouldn’t.”

“I know. It’s just...maybe I’m not really the right mech to ask about this.”

Jazz ex-vented. “Prowl ain’t spillin’ and we both know it.”

“Fine, but you’ll try and talk to him after?”

“Depends.”

“ _Jazz_ , _please_.” Smokescreen’s desperation startled him. The Praxian curled his hands into fists and whispered, “You don’t understand just how hurt he is right now. If Ratchet weren’t watching him as closely as he is and I hadn’t come back just after the slag hit the fan then I don’t think we’d be in the brig. More likely we’d be at a funeral.”  

With that last soft declaration, Smokescreen began.

* * *

  _Smokescreen waited until Prowl had disappeared into his room before slipping out. His poor little studyholic brother had an entrance exam for the Enforcers to study for. Smokescreen, however, was more invested in the proscationation of his own entrance exam for the psychology track. So he was off to go sniff out a party with free-flowing highgrade. A another psych student happened to fit the bill that night and was thankfully within walking distance. Prowl always caught him sneaking around when he had to catch a bus back to their apartment -_ every single time.

_Smokescreen only planned on staying for a joor or two in order to make it back. He had tried to earn himself some more time by leaving his psych datapads on the table so that Prowl could skim those instead of asking his brother questions. Would it work? Probably not, to be honest, but Smokescreen was willing to still through a lecture for a good few cubes of energon and company._

_In actuality, Smokescreen stumbled back to the apartment complex and up the stairs by the time the early risers would be getting up. He fully expected to have his front door slid open to reveal a very much pissed off brother, but he found it still locked. It took a good few klicks to get his shaky hands to input the code. His processor, despite being fogged by one-two-ten too many highgrade cubes, warned Smokescreen that there was something wrong. The clock on the table confirmed that it was past the time that Prowl would have gotten up and pounded on Smokescreen’s door. The washrack was silent. No small Praxian fiddling about in their wanna be kitchen. So where was Prowl?_

_Smokescreen managed to walk over to Prowl’s door without bumping into everything and kicked  it. “Prowlie!” At the lack of response, he slammed a fist against the door and shouted, “Prowl! C’mon!”_

_When there was still no response, Smokescreen grumbled and spun on his heel to march into his own room. He flailed when his foot connected with a stack of datapads and scattered them. He growled for the lights to only turn on at thirty percent power. A small bedside table by his berth had a note stuffed in one of its drawers with Prowl’s door lock code. Smokescreen had to dig through various other odds and ends to actually find it, holding it up to peer at it with bleary optics._

_He returned to Prowl’s door and banged on it once more, but tapped the door code in when there was no sound or movement from behind it. The room’s dark confines bled out into the rest of the apartment. Smokescreen took a careful step in. “Prowl?”_

_The room was neat and tidy as always, but no recharging or tired Prowl in sight._

_Smokescreen tried the washrack next. For some reason, the room was the quietest in the apartment so Prowl would sometimes study in there - especially if some of his brother’s friends came over or Smokescreen was watching a vid. The lock for the rack was a lot easier to type in. As the door slid open, the first thing Smokescreen noticed was the smell of spilled energon. He gagged at it and covered his face with his hands. It was dark so he couldn’t see what it was coming from - suited him fine, he didn’t want to see._

_“Prowl?”_

_To his horror, two dull blue optics suddenly lit up. Forgetting his early hesitance, Smokescreen threw himself to his brother’s side. He snapped for the lights and immediately regretted it. Energon had collected into small pools under Prowl’s helm and wrists. A small, emotionless smile pulled at Prowl’s lips and the thin stream of dried energon from his mouth to his chin cracked and began anew. Smokescreen heard himself asking questions, but didn’t register what he was saying or any answers that Prowl might have given. After running his hands over the injuries, Smokescreen jumped to his feet and pelted into Prowl’s room. There was a basic aid kit stashed on a shelf._ Stupid, overcautious brothers. 

_Trying to bandage Prowl’s wounds was terrifyingly difficult. The younger Praxian kept fighting him. When Smokescreen was finished, Prowl at least didn’t attempt to undo anything. Smokescreen, however, still kept an eye on him while he contacted emergency services. With medical aid on the way, Smokescreen’s panic mind turned towards the how and why._

_“Prowl?” Smokescreen waited until Prowl’s dim optics slowly moved over to him. “What happened?”_

_He wasn’t surprised at the lack of response. Prowl’s optics flickered before he offlined them._

_Smokescreen panicked and slapped Prowl’s arm. “Hey, hey, no. Don’t shut your optics off. Help will be here soon, okay? Just wait for them.”_

_At the mention of help, Prowl’s optics onlined. The usual icy blue was nearly white in panic. He tried to sit up, but Smokescreen pushed him back down. Prowl gave him a weak glare and struggled against the pressure._

_“Prowl! Stop! You’re going to make everything worse!” The threat fell on deaf audials. Smokescreen hastily debated laying over his brother, but the thought of possibly hurting him further shot down that idea. It was fortunate that it didn’t take much longer before he heard the front door open and footsteps pound into the apartment. Everything after that blended together - there was pink energon on his hands, the paramedics’ hands, the floor, all over Prowl._

_They left just as quickly as they had come, this time with a struggling Prowl in tow. Smokescreen locked the apartment and hurried after them._

* * *

 Smokescreen stopped in his account. His in and ex-vents had gotten shaky. Jazz sat in silence, processor whirling with the new information.

_It had been worse_.

“Sorry,” Smokescreen muttered before taking a large in-vent. “Prowl was in the hospital…”

* * *

  _Prowl was in the hospital for nearly a decaorn. First in the intensive unit - in a medically induced stasis. He stayed there an orn or two after waking, to ensure that his frame wasn’t about to go haywire before being moved to a spark-focused floor. The doctors were kind in letting Smokescreen stay as long as he wanted. They explained Prowl’s condition in careful words and would answer any of Smokescreen’s questions._

_If Smokescreen had found him any later, Prowl would have bled out. Even with that miracle, the rest of the complications nearly did Prowl in before being rushed in stasis.His spark had become weak, his frame malnourished and covered in old, badly healed injuries. Under some of his plating, they had found acid damage. No one had really expected Prowl to awaken. Smokescreen spent the entire time stuck helpless as the chances of his brother living waxed and waned._

_After Prowl was online, he asked to speak to an Enforcer. Smokescreen was stuck outside in the hallway while they talked in Prowl’s hospital room. When he finally was allowed inside, he was grumpy - didn’t he have a right to know what was going on with his own little brother?_

_He discovered he wished he had never known._

_Brought in by those who accepted him, before being beaten, broken, betrayed . Both the Enforcers in charge of his case and Smokescreen hurried to explain that what had happened wasn’t Prowl’s fault. No living mech deserved to treated like that - no mech had the right to treat others like that. Prowl had agreed, but didn’t seem convinced in regards to his own situation._

* * *

 Jazz jerked back when Smokescreen suddenly broke into a hysterical fit of laughter.

He leaned forward again, hands out. “Calm down, Smokey.”  

“Sorry,” Smokescreen’s vents hitched with the strength of his laughter. “It’s just, you want to known who was assigned Prowl’s case?”

“Who?”

“Roller and his partner - heh - Orion Pax.”

* * *

_They couldn’t have asked for a better pair to be working Prowl’s case. Both Enforcers were careful with talking to Prowl and would let Smokescreen snap and snarl at those responsible for his brother’s condition. Prowl was promised to receive updates as they worked. It relaxed the younger Praxian to know that he would be kept informed of the case progress. Smokescreen was all too eager to know every detail - probably annoying the Enforcers with his questions._ Have you found any suspects yet? Has Prowl given you any names? Anything new come up? _They patiently endured him and would occasionally provide information that didn’t need Prowl’s say-so._

_After ensuring that Prowl had agreed to attend therapy sessions, he was allowed to leave. Smokescreen helped him back into their apartment and immediately let him rest. Smokescreen had collected all of the materials from the Academy courses Prowl had missed and even convinced other trainee Enforcers to copy their own materials. Working always helped calm a frazzled Prowl, so when he was finished with his school work, Smokescreen would bring him novels and legal issues from the news._

_It took...longer than Smokescreen would have liked before Prowl began to sound and act like he was healing. He knew that it was a lengthy process, but seeing his brother in such pain, rushing into his room to pull him from nightmares, sitting with him when he need to cry and talk, it was horrible for Smokescreen to see. He had finished his psychology track and had studied all the materials he could get his hands on to see if there was something that could help, but none of the reading or information in the world could have truly helped prepare him to be able to be anything more than a steady support for Prowl. But maybe that was what he needed, not someone to whisk away the problems._

_As Prowl healed and the Enforcers began to slowly work their way through suspects and possibly witnesses, a mech came to visit Prowl._

_Smokescreen wouldn’t have let him in had he known. The mech wasn’t a friend or a well wisher. It was only after hearing Prowl’s stuttered shriek at the sight of him that Smokescreen realized the mistake. He had burst into Prowl’s room - now never unlocked - to find Prowl in a corner while the mech towering over him and hissing sharp words. Smokescreen wasn’t close enough to hear what was said, but having found them like that, wasted no time in hauling the mech out and throwing him into the washrack. He locked them and immediately called the Enforcers. Every fiber of his being wanted to go and comfort Prowl, but the immediate concern was ensuring that the mech banging on the door was away from Prowl for good._

_Smokescreen’s determination wasn’t enough to keep him from wincing at the soft sobs coming from Prowl’s room._

_As the Enforcers arrived, the tall blue and red one disappeared into Prowl’s room while the rest of the team wrestled the mech out of the washrack and into handcuffs._

* * *

 “Was he one of them?”

“Hmm?”

“Was the mech one of those that hurt Prowl?”

Smokescreen sighed. “His name’s Scorch. Last I saw of him was in a total repaint and wearing a ‘Con symbol. Freed by the ‘Cons from the prison near Hydrax.”

“Did they arrest anyone else?” Jazz leaned back, ignoring the suspicious glance sent his way.

“A few of Scorch’s cronies. Most of the were killed early in the war. A few I think were targets of yours.”

Jazz opened his mouth, but before he could get anything out, Red Alert’s voice crackled over the intercoms. Considering they both chose cells that were the furthest from the exit, neither of them heard what the security chief was saying. Luckily, the information reached them when the brig guard rushed in and skidded to a halt in front of the cells. He spoke as he unlocked the doors. “There’s been a Deception party sighted heading towards us. Apparently it’s a big one since they want everyone to get to their stations - including you two.”


	12. Desperate Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I have a chapter limit finally added! Although, to be entirely honest, it might go up a bit. We'll just have to see how it goes. 
> 
> Just wanted to give a huge thank you to my beta (who is on vacation and still managed to edit my trainwreck of a chapter) and all of you for your wonderful comments and kudos! The support has been amazing and beyond my wildest dreams! I don't think I can thank you enough for it. 
> 
> Quick note: I'm pretending that Earth basically doesn't exist and all the Protectobots, Combaticons, etc. were constructed on Cybertron. But now, without further ado, let's get kicked into a battle.

 Iacon was relatively safe. Sure, there were a number of Decepticon sympathizers and general anti-war types, but otherwise the city was Autobot run and controlled. The base was probably the securest place a mech could be and yet, the base had ordered almost everyone that could hold a blaster to go fight. That was not a good sign - not for Iacon and certainly not for the troops hurrying  to gear up and get to a transport. 

Jazz had since been split up with Smokescreen. While a Special Ops agent, the blue Praxian also worked with Tactical as a field tactician. Jazz hadn’t made a fuss when he had disappeared, probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for fancy upgraded sensors. It was for the best anyway. With Smokescreen around, Jazz knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his focus a hundred percent on the fighting - not with a reminder of Smokescreen’s verbal nuke from earlier. _No!_ He needed his head in the game, not making guesses or brainstorming questions. His team needed all of his attention and he’d be damned if anyone was hurt while he was distracted.

That didn’t stop him from spending the speedy transport flight to the ‘Cons’ location picking apart Smokescreen’s story.

“Jazz?” A hand on his shoulder nearly had him twisting around to stab the offending mech. A flash of bright yellow stilled his hand, frozen just out of reach of his subspace. 

“Bee, ya can’t do that to me,” Jazz flashed the minibot a too-bright grin. “Ya know I get antsy before we hit the ground.”

Bumblebee’s concerned expression morphed into a sheepish smile. “My bad.” He removed his hand, but didn’t move out of Jazz’s personal space. Jazz gave his plating a quick shake to give the scout some time to regain whatever train of thought he’d had before. “Ah, right! Just checking to see if you were okay. You seem a little distracted is all.”

“Nah, just thinkin’ over some stuff. I’ll be roarin’ to go in no time, yeah?”

“Are you sure?” There was a telltale twinkle in Bumblebee’s optics now. “No one said anything about Special Ops-caused explosions.”

A few mechs nearby chuckled. Jazz’s grin grew much more sincere. “Yeah, well, they didn’t say anythin’ about us not makin’ any, either.”

“Touche!” Someone laughed.

The chatter was enough to keep Jazz more or less occupied with something other than his own processor. All the relaxed and teasing ramble had cut out by the time they had reached the beginnings of an already messy fight. A jagged line of Autobots were attempting to keep the Decepticons from pushing forward, but from the looks of things, the sheer amount of ‘Con troops were overpowering the ‘bots. Another transport eased down to unload off to their right while newly arrived soldiers rushed to their companions’ aid. Jazz’s transport landed with a rumble and the doors crackled as they opened. Jazz and Bumblebee were the first to jump out. They weaved their way through the arrivals until they could find the rest of the Ops team already there.

To Jazz’s surprise, there was an off-looking Smokescreen waiting with Mirage. The spy saw them first and yelled something at them, but the thunder of battle captured his words. ::Heads up, but most of our forces have arrived and the tide is not in our favor.:: 

::What’s goin’ on?:: Jazz shot back as he spun around to give the chaos a critical look-over.

Smokescreen’s snort was ridiculously loud. ::Missing a transport. Tactical is set up, but from what I’m hearing, it’s pretty disorganized at the moment.::

::What, really?:: Bumblebee interrupted. He shot Smokescreen a mean look right back when the Praxian glared at him.

::The field tacticians are spread too thin to be able to have cooperating reports. One might be with a team that’s thinning the crowd while another’s begin overrun. Prowl can handle it, but it will take a klik for everything to get sorted.::

::And why are you here then?:: What Jazz could see of the fighting agreed with his team’s reports. Strange that a competent tactician like Smokescreen would be told to work with Ops when it looked like Tactical could use all the manpower they could get.

::I’m only with you until things really start to take a turn for the worst. So, I don’t know, maybe a few kliks.::

::Very funny.:: Mirage snapped.

::Doesn’t matter - I’ll need ya anyway. We don’t have any definite orders, so focus on takin’ any heavy hitters out. Grunts shouldn’t be a problem for our guys. ‘Specially pay attention to any gestalt teams.::

A chorus of ‘yes sir!’ then the team broke apart. Bumblebee immediately took off with Smokescreen towards a staggering group of Autobots. Mirage shimmered and disappeared. Jazz’s sensors picked him up heading towards a team further ahead. He couldn’t help the slight smirk. His team was trained well. Of course, the Special Operations Commander wasn’t about to be shown up by his subordinates. Jazz dove into the nearest tussle with a wicked grin. 

Unfortunately, he had to keep some of his processor on monitoring his comms. Staticky voices snapped and snarled in between orders and cursing. Most of the chatter Jazz could ignore, but when the familiar calm voice came through in stark clarity, he immediately listened.

::Does anyone have visual on the enemy flyers?::

A muttering of ‘no’ and ‘not since blah’ answered Prowl. The question made Jazz draw back and take another look at the ‘Cons. Much to his surprise, the flyers from before had disappeared. 

The ground shook beneath his pedes and Jazz had to fight to keep his balance as a roar echoed across the battlefield. He didn’t need to look towards the sound to know what monster could have appeared.

There were a number of options. Well, three that he knew of, so three options on who it could be.

:: _Primus!_ ::

With word from an alarmed Ironhide, there was only _one_ option left and it was the _worst_ option. Bruticus.

::Jazz, we have a problem!:: Smokescreen yelped over the Ops comm. Bumblebee’s muttering could be heard under Smokescreen’s panicked report.::A really big problem!::

::Right. Where’s _our_ flyers?::

Mirage responded first. ::Chased after the Seekers.::

Before Jazz could jump back into the public comm, Prowl cut everyone off with a sharp, ::Silverbolt, get back immediately. Bruticus has formed.::

::Affirmative. ETA thirty kliks.::

::That ain’t fast enough!:: Jazz snapped.

Bruticus roared again and kicked at a group of Autobots. Luckily, they had scattered just in time to avoid getting thrown into the air. Jazz snarled and transformed. Both sides desperately scrambled to get out of the massive gestalt’s way, leaving a relatively clear path straight to the massive Decepticon. The ground shook with each pedestep.

:: _What the frag are you doing?_ ::

::Jazz! Stop!::

::Stop driving, you idiot! Turn around!::

His team was really supportive. Jazz ignored the baffled and outraged comms to focus on not getting stepped on or kicked away.

::Try to take out his legs!:: Jazz yelled as he transformed just shy of Bruticus’ pedes. He hefted his blaster and took aim. There was a pause in the comms before shouts of agreement roared through. There was even a ‘good idea’ from Tactical. It didn’t take long until more troops rallied to Jazz’s side. They let out a battle cry and began to fire.

The ‘Cons had stopped in their retreat in shock at the sudden rush of Autobot troops straight towards the gestalt, but their surprised wore off rapidly once they noticed what the others were doing. The Decepticon troops roared and charged forward again. And once again, the battle was all consuming chaos. Jazz crushed the little bubble of triumph at seeing his comrades throwing themselves back into the thick of the fighting with a vicious gleam in their optics. Be proud later, win first.

Bruticus raised one pede and slammed it back down. A few mechs couldn’t get out of the way in time and the rest of the ‘Bots fell back. There was the telltale shriek of jet engines that signalled the return of the flyers - much to Jazz’s relief. Then he happened to glance up at the dark purple sky and noticed that it wasn’t Silverbolt and his team, but Seekers. In an open, barren area like this, the Autobots were brightly colored targets just waiting to get shot.

::Seekers!::

Jazz hit the ground and heard some others around him do the same. Cackling machinegun fire scored the ground a few lengths to his left and carved a straight path past. Mechs screamed as they were unable to escape the deadly fire.

::Bumblebee, I said _get down!_ ::

_F_ _rag, frag, frag_ , Jazz began to chat to himself. Without their own flyers to fight back, the Seekers were going to chew the Autobots up and spit them out. Someone yelled that the Seekers were banking around for another run. Jazz climbed to his pedes and began to run. He could hear the engines chasing after him. There were more than a few gray husks he passed and leapt over. It was a Primus-given blessing that Jazz spotted a massive tank former laying on his side and completey gray. He dove behind the corpse with the desperate hope that the dead mech’s plating would be solid enough to keep him more or less protected. The aggressive rolling of the guns drowned out the gunfire slamming into to the hard packed dirt. When the rain of death reached Jazz’s hiding place, the metallic _thunk_ of the bullets getting lodged into the dead mech was nearly loud enough to fry his audials.

As the engines passed and swung around, Jazz began his mad dash once more. There had been a few rock outcroppings scattered around the transports’ landing zone that would work as cover. He had already seen some mechs making a break for it and it looked like a few had gotten lucky. While running, Jazz tuned into his comm.

::Report.::

::Mirage’s fine. Bee got some shrapnel buried in his leg, I’m trying to get him out of the crosshairs.::

::Where are ya at?::

::Behind you, straight left.::

Jazz risked a look behind him, easily spotting Smokescreen with Bumblebee leaning against him. The scout waved before Smokescreen got his attention. Satisfied that they were alright for the time being, Jazz swung his head around. Just in time, too. He managed to avoid tripping over a body and losing precious time. 

With his team accounted for, Jazz tried the public comms. The general chaotic mess was gone, deadly silent while troops waited for orders and the command waited for Silverbolt to show. He wasn’t going to get any information from that source, so Jazz tried to command staff-only. Ratchet had left his comm on and could be heard muttering as he worked. ::What’s the situation, mechs?::

::Bolt still hasn’t shown.:: Ironhide growled. ::Some fragging Seekers showed up. They decided to shot everything up.::

::I can see that, Hide.::

Prowl suddenly said, ::Silverbolt has arrived. Enemies following-::

::It’s the elite trine.:: Ironhide, one again, pointed out the obvious.

::No other flyers, however. Have Sideswipe and Sunstreaker been successful in bringing down anyone?::

::Nah, not that I’ve heard and they’d be braggin’ by now if they had.:: Jazz’s attention was only loosely focused on the conversation, too busy watching as Silverbolt’s team weaved through the air and dodged attacks before replying with their own. ::Bruticus should be plenty busy with ‘em, but what’ll we do about the Seekers?::

Prowl was silent as he presumably went over varying ideas supplied by his battle computer. Jazz just rolled his shoulders, narrowed his eyes at the Seekers circling above, and sent, ::Just lemme know when ya got somethin’.::

He nearly missed Prowl’s, ::Of course.::

Jazz spun around to assess the troops that he had taken cover with. “Alright mechs, we got some Seekers to shoot down!”

The responding yell wasn’t as enthusiast as Jazz was hoping, but they all aimed their blasters and fired off rapid shots in a much more motivated fashion. There was the signature squawk from Starscream and then the Seekers split apart. Most of the shots were completely missing their targets with the Seekers’ speed easily putting them out of range, but a few lucky hits clipped a wing burnt belly plating.

“Good job, keep firin’!” Jazz just happened to peer along his sights in time to watch as a Seeker suddenly broke off and flew back behind the Decepticon lines. There was a crawling suspicion in his tank. Jazz waited for nearly a klik before the Seeker was back in the sky again. Only this time, it looked like he had a passenger and was headed straight towards the Tactical shelter. Jazz leapt to his feet and stuffed his weapon back into subspace. He pointed at the closest mech and upon getting his startled attention, told him he was in charge of keeping the rest firing at the Seekers. Jazz then transformed and sped off towards the makeshift base.

Prowl was in there with a few other mechs to provide defense and easy communication with the rest of the army. From what Jazz could see, the base had already been shredded by gunfire and abandoned. If it hadn’t been set up atop a rise to allow Prowl to see over the fighting, then maybe it wouldn’t have suffered such heavy damage. At least there was no one there-

_What the frag is Prowl still doing there?_

Jazz snarled through a private comm, ::What the actual slag are ya still doin’ there? Get out before that Seeker makes you nothin’ more than a charred outline!::

::I needed time to allow the others to reach their fall back positions.::

::So ya fraggin’ stayed behind?:: Jazz, as angry as he was, couldn’t really fault the tactician.

Jazz would have skidded to a halt had he not been expecting the gist of Prowl’s next words. ::And you care why?::

_Slagging mess, that’s what this is._ There was no time to analyze Prowl's tone or words, nor the painful meaning behind them. Before Jazz could fire off a response, he saw the Seeker dive down and swoop over Prowl’s head as the black and white backed into cover. The Seeker’s passenger was dropped down across the torn shelter from Prowl, but it would only take a klik for the ‘Con to cross over should he want to. Jazz pushed his alt-mode to its ultimate limit to get to Prowl in time 

The ‘Con just stood there, not moving. Why wasn’t he attacking? Why wasn’t Prowl shooting at him?


	13. Scorching You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for triggering situations below.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments and kudos! Enjoy the longest chapter yet.

To an outsider, the battle raging around them would have been nothing but unpredictable chaos. The junior tactical staff was lost. Shouts over the angry song of fighting were cut off by gunfire and continued in the same strength over comms, mechs fighting and dying, and their intel coming in snippets. It was as disorganized as something so utterly violent can be.   
  
It was one thing to see the fighting as such, however, and the Autobots never truly knew just how critical is was that they had someone who could see past the disorder.    
  
Despite their behavior towards their tactical officer, the Autobot troops fell into line under Prowl’s orders. Prowl found himself beyond grateful for it as the fighting grew fiercer. It was increasingly difficult to keep an optic on the happenings and the other tacticians spread through the frontlines were often reporting contradicting information based on their positions. Prowl heard a mech behind him shift as more warbled reports came in.    
  
The little base that they had managed to set up provided shelter to Prowl, two others from his department, a communications specialist, and a few snipers to provide cover for the frontlines and a defense for the team. It was small, well defended, and not easily noticed. It’s position kept it further back from the fighting and it was only easily reached by flight frames.    
  
A portion of Prowl’s processing power was focused on the Seekers and any maneuvers that brought the flyers close to their position would be brought to his immediate attention. Everything else was focused on the fighters below. Things were...turbulent. He was regretting sending Smokescreen back to Jazz, but something had been rather avid about keeping his brother with the special ops teams. With a shake of his head, Prowl allowed the comms to take most of his focus as he watched the battle below with a critical optic. 

He had just been admiring a clean shot from Bluestreak when a sudden puzzle piece of the battle went missing. Prowl internally swore and broke off mid-praise to give all his focus to the battlefield. It was nothing short of a mess down there, but there wasn’t anything that could signal as to what it was that felt oddly empty. They were suffering losses and it appeared the Decepticon forces were soundly beating them, but most battles started out that way these orns. It looked serious, but nothing that would make Prowl begin to tear apart strategies to find a flaw or an overlooked detail. He just had to put his trust in the troops, that their determination would begin to turn the tides. 

So what was it that was off? He couldn’t pinpoint it until Bluestreak shifted next to him. The sniper’s movements were like thunder. It was deadly quiet without the telltale screech of jet engines. Prowl’s head whipped up and he scanned the sky. Where were the flyers? Seekers had been engaging in air strikes earlier, but now they were nowhere to be seen. The Autobot flyers that had been ordered to deal with the Decepticons’ air forces had also disappeared.   


There had been no reports from any of the field tacticians on the matter. Prowl frowned and while his battle computer mused over the new information, he sent out a public comm. ::Does anyone have visual on the enemy flyers?:: And as he expected, there was a chorus of negatives.

A roar shook the shelter. Prowl’s processor had been notified with the most likely reason just as another sniper breathed, “Oh, slag.” A Decepticon gestalt was wading into the battle, optics like fire, and determination in his every movement. Bruticus, of course. Prowl was not surprised. The battle so far had been a slurry of Decepticon onslaught, it would make sense that the gestalt that had the highest ratio of death and destruction per battle would form. With the Autobot flyers gone, there was no force strong enough to effectively take down Bruticus. Prowl narrowed his optics. It was a genius plan, he had to admit. They needed the flyers back  _ ASAP _ .

::Silverbolt, get back immediately. Bruticus has formed.::

::Affirmative. ETA thirty kliks.::

There was a frustrated growl from the comms. ::That ain’t fast enough!:: Jazz was right, but it was what they had to deal with. They needed to distract Bruticus, somehow stall any immediate attacks until the flyers returned. Bruticus was already laying waste to the Autobot forces near him.

There was a silver blur that was racing  _ towards  _ the gestalt. Prowl could hear the shock over the comms and wanted to add his own scolding because what was that idiot doing? Going up to Bruticus was-

::Try to take out his legs!:: Ah. Prowl could see where Jazz was going with his reckless actions.

::Good idea, Jazz.:: Prowl added over the public comms. Hopefully having two officers standing with the idea would help motivate the troops. Although, he really shouldn’t have worried. Jazz was charismatic enough to have done it with or without Prowl’s aid.

The Decepticons were left in confusion as the Autobot forces rallied and charged towards Bruticus. Once they realized what was happening, they were quick to throw themselves back into the fight to keep the newly energized ‘Bots from taking down their gestalt. 

Then the Seekers returned. Prowl heard the whines of their engines before spotting one of the sleek flyers. Bluestreak sat up a little and glared at his rifle. ::My rifle’s out. Does anyone have spare ammo or even a spare rifle? I mean, who would carry a spare-::

::Bluestreak, focus.:: Prowl chided the sniper as he pulled out his spare acid pellet rifle to hand off. ::Be careful, the range is less than yours. The acid could also burn your fingers.::

Bluestreak took the rifle carefully and gave it a quick once-over. It must have passed the test, since Bluestreak didn’t respond and simply went back to staring through the scope and occasionally firing off a shot or two. Seeker fire demanded Prowl’s attention. His optics narrowed as he went over factors. _ Frag it! _ ::Find cover!:: The comms were so alive with other voices, that he doubt that he could be heard.

The Seekers’ airstrikes were devastating. Autobots scrambled to get out of the way, attempting to find cover behind dead comrades and outcroppings. Jazz’s voice over the command staff’s comm channel filtered through, ::What’s the situation, mechs?::

::Bolt still hasn’t shown.:: Ironhide growled. ::Some fragging Seekers showed up. They decided to shoot everything up.::

::I can see that, Hide.::

Prowl got a ping from Silverbolt and he looked up in time to see the Aerialbots flash past with Decepticon flyers hot on their heels. ::Silverbolt has arrived. Enemies following.:: One of the Con jets fired off a rocket that just missed the command shelter. Childish Seeker.

::It’s the elite trine,:: Ironhide added.

::No other flyers, however.:: Prowl glanced over at where he suspected the twins to be. ::Have Sideswipe and Sunstreaker been successful in bringing down anyone?::

::Nah, not that I’ve heard and they’d be braggin’ by now if they had.:: Jazz paused and his harsh vents were all that could be heard. ::Bruticus should be plenty busy with ‘em, but what’ll we do about the Seekers?:: 

Prowl was silent as he thought it over. There were multiple options, but each had some serious problems - mainly with the estimated casualties. They truly couldn’t afford more than what they have already lost.

::Just lemme know when ya think of somethin’.::

::Of course.::

Jazz appeared to take control of the scattered troops around him and they began to fire at the Seekers. Not very effective, but there were a few lucky shots that found a mark. The Seekers were too fast for most of the troops to hit and they had broken formation to avoid the rest. Prowl watched them with a close optic as he listened to the orders being directed through the comms. They were lucky to have Jazz’s improvisational skills.

A Seeker broke off and streaked towards the command center. Prowl heard some of the others with him make surprised gasps. He spun around to face them. “Break up. Report to your fall back position.” Prowl would be damned if he let this team stay sitting ducks. As everyone began to hurriedly pack up vital equipment, Prowl watched the Seeker wheel around in the sky before turning around to head back behind Decepticon lines. Not good. There was something going on and he didn’t know what. 

Bluestreak got his attention by taking hold of his arm. His concerned optics bored into Prowl. “Coming?”

“In a moment. I need to assess the new information regarding that wayward Seeker.”

“But you won’t stay here, right?”

The Seeker was returning. It looked like he had a passenger. Strange. Bluestreak sent one last concerned look at Prowl before shooing his fellow sniper out of the shelter. The team transformed as one and sped off. Prowl stepped out of the shelter as well, but only to continue watching as the Seeker grew closer. ::Prowl?:: Bluestreak’s worry drifted through the comm.

There was something wrong. Prowl ignored the sniper and focused on the Seeker and the mysterious passenger. Who was that? He couldn’t recall the flyer’s designation and he couldn’t make out who the other Decepticon was.

Prowl found himself ducking back into cover as the Seeker open fired. The machine gun tore apart the flimsy tarping and exposed the Praxian. The Seeker's engines were deafening. Prowl, while scrambling for cover, was forced to tuck his doorwings close to his body to limit their exposure. His only comfort at the moment was that the others had scattered and were out of harm's way. There were few options for Prowl to get down and out of the way, but with the Seeker covering him -  _ and not firing? _ \- he was only left with transforming and driving off the cliff. Not necessarily a bad option.

Jazz’s angry voice startled him. ::What the actual slag are ya still doin’ there? Get out before that Seeker makes you nothin’ more than a charred outline!::

::I needed time to allow the others to reach their fall back positions.:: Based on the estimated times of the team’s arrival at their positions, Bluestreak was still much too close. Should the young sniper decide, he could easily swing back and reach Prowl and only put himself in danger.

::So ya fraggin’ stayed behind?::

Since when had Jazz been concerned with his well being over the past orns? ::And you care why?:: Prowl did not receive a response - he hadn’t been expecting one.

The Seeker wheeled around above his head and titled one wing down for his passenger to slide down. The Deception landed heavily, the dusty ground exploding at his impact. It took a moment for the dust to clear and for Prowl to see who this strange enemy was.   
  
He froze.   
  
The mech standing across from him was horrifyingly familiar. A ground-based frame with Seeker wings that appeared to have been rebuilt, paint now less saturated and a Decepticon symbol emblazoned on his chassis. His formerly fiery crimson-orange optics where now traditional Decepticon red, but  _ that look _ \- that wolfish smirk was recognizable. Prowl had seen it in his nightmares.    
  
He was cornered.   
  
Prowl fluffed out his armor and gave the Con a glare. His wings rose up into a challenge, but they tremored with barely contained fear. Prowl snarled, "Scorch."   
  
The Con's expression brightened. "Hello, sweetness." Prowl was silent. Scorch frowned, but there was a playfulness to it that make Prowl's plating rattle. "Don't be so cold, songbird. I thought you'd be pleased to see me."   
  
"Depends on the situation," Prowl snapped, "I would be pleased to see you dead."   
  
"Ouch." The half-Seeker's winglets flicked in what could be considered similar to a grimace. "You hold a grudge well."   
  
Scorch stepped closer,  _ that smile _ back in place. Prowl stood firm. He wanted to flee, but his battle computer had provided alarming numbers at not only his success rate, but also regarding how any interactions after may end. Scorch seemed pleased at the lack of response.   
  
He stopped only a length or two away - much too close and well within point-blank range. Much to Prowl's rising horror, however, he had found that his frame was seemingly paralyzed the closer Scorch came. All he could do was watch -  _ no no no nono _ \-    
  
"Poor sweet Prowl. Why don't we go slow? Catch up, see how the other is doing. Last I heard you were inspecting a base close to Kaon. Oh wait, wait - that wasn't you. That was the brighter mech, um, Smokewisp? Smokesignal? Your brother." Scorch pouted. “We never really met. I bet he’s great when he’s not throwing you into a nasty washrack so you could get arrested.” He suddenly perked up with a vicious smile. “I bet he’s just as fun as you.”

“Stay away from him,” Prowl snarled. His response only seemed to encourage the Decepticon. 

“So fiercely loyal.” An explosion off on the battlefield behind them caught Scorch’s attention. Prowl immediately began to back away, battle computer desperately searching for a viable escape route. Whatever had interested Scorch would lose its charm eventually and  _ Prowl had to get away _ .   
  
Taking a dive off the cliff was a tantalizing option. 

If he had been paying any attention to the information his sensor net had been relaying, Prowl might have been able to prevent Scorch from getting closer. His preoccupation with the simple desire to flee had left him open - an advantage that Scorch had greedily taken. When his wings alerted him to the sudden breach of his personal space, Prowl found himself looking straight into Scorch’s chassis. He had to crane his neck to meet the half-Seeker optic to optic. Whatever systems that had managed to avoid becoming entrapped in Prowl’s terror were swamped by the horrified realization that  _ Scorch was now within touching distance _ . He could  _ feel _ the other’s rapid ex-vents.   
  
Prowl desperately back pedaled as Scorch reached out with a wicked smile and gleaming optics. His wings jerked out of range and he shoved at the other's chest. "Stay back!" His processor was halted by panic and the information streams that kept his battle computer running jolted to a stop. A crash was threatening and he'd be damned if his own system left him at the hands of this monster while unconscious. 

_ He couldn’t get away, he couldn’t get away, Primus, he couldn’t get away - it was going to start over again- _

Scorch was larger and stronger than Prowl and had no difficulties wrapping his arms around the struggling Praxian and crushing him in a mockery of a lover’s embrace. “Oh, songbird, it’s so nice to be able to hold you again.” Prowl’s desperate attempts to escape only became more frantic. He was able to force Scorch off-balance enough that the half-Seeker tumbled over, but much to Prowl’s horror, he was slammed into the ground and had the other land on top of him. 

The roar of a high performance engine cut through Prowl’s terror-fogged processor, but only for a brief moment. Scorch was laughing, his weight crushing Prowl’s doorwings as black and white spots swirled in his vision with the pain. Was that rumbling getting loud or was it just his audials trying to reset after such a hard impact? Prowl offlined his optics when he felt warm vents against his face. Scorch tsked and leaned forward to press his forehead against Prowl’s. “Comfy.” Scorch’s chuckling in his still-adjusting audials made Prowl’s plating shift uncomfortably. 

Prowl only barely managed to muffled his sob of relief when Scorch was suddenly jerked off of him. There was the sound of something heavy falling next to him. He curled up with his doorwings pulled tight and bit down on one hand to keep any whimpers from reaching the open air. His optics onlined in a blind panic when a voice was suddenly demanding his attention and hands were lingering over his frame. Prowl lashed out but his wrist was caught and he found himself pulled into an embrace. He tried to struggle out of the hold, but  _ he couldn’t _ \-  _ Primus, he couldn’t get away again _ -

“Prowl, Prowl! Look at me!” No no no no no-

“Prowler, please!”

Prowl stilled at the familiar nickname. There was no lingering mockery or fear attached to it, only warmth. He reset his optics and found a bleached visor directly in front of his face. The other mech leaned back with a sigh of relief. 

“Jazz,” Prowl croaked. 

The other offered a soft smile. “Yeah, it’s me. Are ya okay?”

_ No _ . Prowl’s voice refused to work with him. He tried to shake his head, but found that he was held so tightly against Jazz that he couldn’t move. He went to open a comm just as movement from behind Jazz drew the other’s attention away. Boiling rage washed out the concern in the special ops mech’s field and Prowl had to fight down panic. 

Scorch’s voice was harsh and low. “Who are you?” 

Jazz was distracted with Scorch and loosened his grip enough that Prowl could push himself away. He was only spared a glance by Scorch, who looked him over with a critical optic before returning a glare to Jazz. Jazz rose to his pedes with calculated grace and snarled back. “I could ask ya the same question.”

“It’s a none of your business, Autobrat. Scram before I rip off your panels.”

“Feisty,” Jazz commented, “ya look like the violent type.” His field was tightly drawn against him as he slouched. To anyone else, he looked like he was just carrying on a casual conversation, but Prowl knew that he was just as poised to action or go on the defensive as before. 

Scorch seemed to take the sudden shift to his advantage. He stepped forward, optics darting behind Jazz to Prowl and back, with a smug grin. “Is that so? If you’re that observant, then you’d know you’re interrupting a spark-warming reunion.”

“Prowler here-”

“ _ Prowler? _ ” Scorch chuckled even as his wings hiked into a sharp ‘v’. “What right do you have to claim him?”

“That’s just creepy.”

As the two snipped back and forth, testing the other for weaknesses, Prowl climbed to his shaky pedes. His weapon was across from him, less than a length away from Scorch. Unretrievable. His spare rifle was with Bluestreak and while he did have an energon dagger, he wasn’t very skilled in its use. He was just as helpless as before, even with a teeking murderous Jazz standing in Scorch’s way. Prowl shifted to the side, enough that he was still behind Jazz but could now see Scorch’s face. The Decepticon’s optics immediately found his and Prowl ducked back. How pathetic. He was hiding like a sparkling.

Scorch took another step, ignoring Jazz’s warning rumble, and held out a hand. “Oh, sweetness, there’s no need to hide. Come back out.”

“He’s not goin’ anywhere.” Jazz’s stance stiffened. 

Blazing optics turned away from where Prowl had been and narrowed at Jazz. “You have no right-” And just like that it seemed something clicked. Scorch’s optics widened and his field radiated his surprise. “You moved on, songbird. I’m a little disappointed that you chose  _ him  _ to replace me.”

Jazz didn’t look back, “Prowl?”

All three suddenly went still as their individual comms suddenly came to life. Prowl knew that Jazz would be receiving the same; ::The ‘Cons are retreating! Hold your ground!:: It was not hard to guess what message Scorch been given.

“Time’s up,” Scorch said casually, “Don’t worry, sweetness. I’ll make sure you’ll never have to leave me again.”

Time must have sped up - that was the only explanation. One klik, Scorch was across from them, the next and he was well within Prowl’s personal space reaching out for him. Prowl recoiled just as Jazz slid forward, energon blade flashing in his hand. There was the echoing of a blaster then an agonized shout. Scorch stumbled backwards as Jazz slumped to the ground. Fear for Jazz washed over Prowl, but everything was happening so fast he couldn’t-

Scorch, hands pressed over his chassis, fell forward and managed to catch himself against Prowl. He lifted one energon stained hand to trace over Prowl’s faceplates, fingers lingering over his lips. Prowl tried to step back, but Scorch’s other hand grabbed his chevron and pulled him forward to crush their lip plates together in a bloody kiss.

His grip slackened and Scorch fell to the earth, colors already starting to fade to gray. Prowl stood shaking, looking down at the body of the mech who had abused him so long ago and haunted his dreams ever since. 

Jazz’s pained groan snapped Prowl’s trance. He clumsily made his way to the other mech’s side and fell to his knees to assess the damage with shaking fingers. The shot had missed anything vital, but it was still beyond his field skills. Face stained with drying energon and fingers pressed deep into a gunshot wound, Prowl commed Ratchet.


	14. What to Say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this chapter, but it's been sitting on my computer for too long while waiting for me to get around and try to fix it up to my standards. I don't have time to do that, so I'm just going to post it and hope for the best.

_The monitors attached to Jazz were comforting. He was going to be okay. Prowl startled when the medbay doors opened. Smokescreen rushed in and straight to Prowl. His optics widened when he saw the energon covering his little brother. "Prowl-"_ _  
_   
_"I can't leave," the black and white whispered._

* * *

 

Jazz was brought out of a pleasantly dark and empty recharge by a tap on the forehead with something suspiciously heavy. His systems were quick to boot up, although his battle protocols sunk back down when the mech who had awakened him registered as a medic. Jazz powered on his visor in time to see a frowning Ratchet lean over him.

“You’re a lucky fragger.”

Jazz cocked his head. “Yeah?” He went to shift into a more comfortable position but winced at a tinge in his side. Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

“Had that been any higher, it could have hit your spark chamber.”

“Should have seen the other guy, Ratch,” Jazz chuckled for a moment before the movement sent more pain through him.

Ratchet turned to assess a monitor to Jazz’s right. He huffed at the read out. “There were more pressing matters.”

 _Prowl._ Jazz jerked up at the thought, fully ignoring his frame’s protest and the medic’s. “Where’s Prowl? Is he okay? That Con didn’t get him, did he?” He desperately tried to look around the medbay, but even with Ratchet’s bulky form blocking most of his view of the room, it appeared to be empty. No black and white Praxian - oh Primus, was he okay?

Jazz was just about to send a ping to the Praxian when Ratchet put a hand on his arm and gently pushed him back down against the berth. “You barely missed him. He’s been sticking close. Smokescreen always comes to get him after a joor or so.”

“But is he okay?”

Ratchet’s silence was disheartening. With a sigh, the medic admitted, “Whatever happened has him rattled. He crashed immediately after you were stable. His concern was apparently enough to put it off until you were more or less safe, but the delay only made it worse.” Ratchet’s attention wavered back towards the monitors. “Prowl should still be here recovering, but the last I heard, he’s been locking himself in his office. Smokescreen’s forbidden me from barging in and demanding that he actually takes care of himself.”

“And ya haven’t?"

“He’s in a bad place. If I started hounding him, it would only make things worse.” Ratchet half-heartedly shrugged. “It’s Smokescreen’s place as a therapist and Prowl’s brother to tell me to back off.”

Jazz frowned. He let his processor mull over these new developments while Ratchet worked with the monitors. So far, Ratchet hadn’t given any hints that he knew what had happened - only that the Con involved had rattled Prowl. Smokescreen, however, would know. Jazz wasn’t quite sure how long he was in stasis while Ratchet was working on him, but obviously long enough for a worried brother to pry out the information. He didn’t think he was ready to talk to Prowl about what had happened. The Con - Scorch? - had known Prowl and they had been _something_ in the past. Lovers, maybe? If so, Jazz would be surprised that Prowl hadn’t spoken about him. If it had been a relationship gone sour, while Prowl might have avoided saying anything, his brother would have dropped some evidence towards it.

On the other hand...there was a much worse, but fitting option. Something forced and unwilling on Prowl’s part. Scorch seemed to fit - Jazz shook his head. He’d try to talk with Smokescreen before jumping to the worse possible conclusion. Even if it only appeared more and more likely with every passing klik with Smokescreen’s information.

Ratchet hadn’t been too reluctant to release Jazz from medbay. Apparently, he had been in stasis while the worst of his injuries had been taken care of and his self-heal only had to deal with some aches and pains. Well that, and Jazz had been quick to make a nuisance of himself. Anything to get out quicker. The faster Ratchet would shoo him out, the faster he could get to Smokescreen.

Passing through the base’s hallways, Jazz returned smiles and greetings with practiced ease. No one held him up for anything longer than a quick ‘how are you doing?’. A few of the mechs he passed had some questions regarding just how he had gotten a blast to the side, but Jazz waved them off with a promise of the whole detailed story later. The whole story plus some embellishments and minus traumatized Prowl. Just thinking of the vacant, glazed optics that had replaced the usually icy see-all stare was enough to send a shiver down Jazz’s spinal struts.

_How had he missed it? How could he have let himself be so blind?_

Bluestreak came around the corner and ran smack into Jazz. The sniper jumped back and helped Jazz back to his feet with a sheepish smile. “Sorry Jazz! I wasn’t paying any attention to where I was going. Did you hear that Prowl locked himself in his office and not even Smokescreen can get in? He’s been acting a little funny lately, but this really tops it. I don’t know what’s wrong - do you? Are you going to talk to him? Maybe you should! He always listened to us, but we can’t even get inside to talk to him so maybe you could hack in or something?”

“Blue,” Jazz held up his hands as if they could protect him from the babbled flood. “Slow down and try that again.”

“Prowl’s been really worrying me. A lot of us actually. Even if he’s really mad at the twins or something, he usually still allows ‘Bots into his office. Do you think he’s sick? I keep seeing Sunny or Sides leaving the rec room with extra energon - they’ve been really helpful and nice to Prowl lately. Maybe that’s why he’s upset?”

Jazz put a hand on the Praxian’s shoulder. “Whatever happened, I’m sure he’ll be askin’ ya to play games again soon enough. He just has a lot on his mind, I’d assume.”

Bluestreak frowned and narrowed his optics in thought. He hummed. “I didn’t think that he might be that busy, but Prowl always has been a workaholic, so maybe it’s not that surprising-”

“Blue, you said that Prowl isn’t lettin’ anyone in his office?”

“No,” Bluestreak said in slight confusion at the sudden topic change. “I think the twins and Smokey can get in occasionally, but that’s it.”

“Alright, thanks Blue.” Jazz gave the sniper’s shoulder a squeeze before stepping around him and hurrying back on his way. He left Bluestreak staring at the walls in deep thought. If Prowl was barely allowing his own brother into his office sanctuary, then there’d be no way he’d let Jazz in - not after how he’d been treating the Praxian as of late. As much as he hoped for it, it wasn’t likely that whole stunt with Scorch had left anything other than a bad taste in Prowl’s mouth. It had left Jazz with such. Primus, Jazz hoped he could convince Prowl that they had to talk. He shook his head and focused his visor on the floor steadily flashing underfoot, lost in thought.

It wasn’t a surprise to find Smokescreen outside Prowl’s door. When Jazz walked up, Smokescreen barely gave him a glance. The Praxian was in the middle of a heated argument over comms if his expression was anything to go by. Jazz waited until the elder Praxian finally gave a rumble of his engine and turned towards him.

Smokescreen threw his hands up into the air. “I can’t get through to him.”

“Is he okay?” Jazz threw a glance up at the security camera above Prowl’s door. _Oh_. Smokescreen shook his head.

“No. He isn’t - not after _that_. Primus, I can’t believe that I left him.”

“Smokey, ya were ordered to stick with Ops. Nothin’ you can do about that. It’s not yer fault.”

“It is!” Smokescreen snarled and kicked at the door. “I should have been with him!”

“Think ya could stopped ‘im? Cause ya probably couldn’t have. I nearly died tryin’.”

Smokescreen’s doorwings drooped. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “I know. I just feel so helpless about this, you know? Prowl’s hurting and I can’t do anything to help. Not if he won’t talk to me.”

“Have you asked Red to unlock the door?” Jazz asked with another look at the camera.

Smokescreen jerked back upright with wide optics. “I didn’t think of that! Frag!” He spun around to glare at the camera. “Red? You there?” Apparently the answer he got wasn’t one he wanted. “He’s my brother. C’mon, Red, please!” Smokescreen flipped a rude gesture at the camera.

Jazz watched him grumble over the comms before he sighed and pinged Red Alert as well. :: _No, Jazz. I’m not going to open the door for you either._ ::

:: _Please, Red, we really need to talk to him._ ::

:: _No visitors right now. That’s what Prowl said and that’s what I’m sticking too._ ::

:: _He’s hurtin’._ Please.::

Red Alert sighed. :: _I’m sorry, Jazz, but I can’t_.::

Jazz met Smokescreen’s optics. “I have ta talk to him, I made such a mess. There has ta be some way to get him-”

“Hey, is there a party out here or something?” The two mechs standing outside the office turned to see Sunstreaker and Sideswipe walking towards them. Sideswipe was holding a cube of energon. At the looks on the others’ faces, Sideswipe frowned.

“Still nothing?” Sunstreaker asked.

“You haven’t tried hacking in?” Sideswipe asked at the same time. The twins shot each other a glare.

Jazz shook his head. “Not willin’ to try. I already fragged up enough, hackin’ his door won’t help.”

“He’ll have to leave eventually. He can’t stay camped in there forever.”

The group settled themselves against the hallway walls to wait. Sideswipe passed off the energon to Smokescreen who gladly accepted it. As the joors passed, the twins left for patrol. Then followed Smokescreen, who had to go help Trailbreaker with some tactical plans. He left with an apology. Jazz sat down on the floor and leaned back, hitting his head against the wall with a thud. Surely Prowl would have been out by now? If not to fuel, then to at least stretch his legs, right?

Of course not. Some part of Jazz scoffed at the thought. Prowl was stubborn and a workaholic. If anything, he’d probably just fall into recharge on his desk - he has before and that was without the traumatic stress of the recent events. Jazz, himself, was nearly on the verge of nodding off. Only his sheer determination to catch Prowl leaving the office was keeping him from shuttering his optics.

As he waited, angry and sorrowful thoughts plagued him. _Just what had the Con been talking about?_ He had heard Smokescreen’s story and there were obviously parts he was missing. _What had happened? Why hadn’t Prowl brought it up? Had he not trusted Jazz? Was he even trustworthy after everything that he had put Prowl through? Had Prowl known what would have happened? Is that maybe why he never said anything? Is there anyway Prowl could forgive him?_

The sound of a door sliding open startled Jazz out of his circling thoughts. Prowl was standing there, staring down at him with hazy confusion. Jazz immediately climbed to his feet, words already on his glossa. “Prowl-”

“What are you doing?”

Jazz froze, suddenly on the spot. _I wanted to make things right. I was scared. I was worried about ya._ Instead, he simply said, “Just checkin’ on ya.”

“Thank you, but I am fine.” Prowl waited for the door to close before locking it. He stared back the hallway towards the officer’s wing, leaving Jazz behind.

“Wait!” Jazz scrambled after him. “Prowl, we gotta talk.”

The Praxian didn’t slow down. “About what? There is nothing to talk about.”

“That’s a lie,” Jazz snapped, “and ya know it.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched.

Jazz followed Prowl to their - _his_ \- quarters. Prowl keyed in his code and immediately tried to close the door before Jazz could slide in as well. Jazz stuck his pede in the door’s way, making it halt. He fixed Prowl with a steady gaze. “We need ta talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Prowl wouldn’t meet his gaze. The sight made Jazz’s spark hurt. _What had he done?_

“Please, Prowler…” Prowl held his hand up to stop Jazz. His optics were dull with pain and his doorwings drooped with his burden. Jazz wanted to draw him into his arms and keep the world at bay - anything to keep the Praxian safe.

“Talk about what specifically?” His voice was so defeated, it _burned_.

Jazz fought to keep from reaching out. “All of it.”

“Very well,” Prowl mumbled as he stepped back to allow Jazz in.


	15. Heart and Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Heart and Mind: until they smahed real good 
> 
> GUESS WHOS BACK ITS ME! FINALLY!  
> Thank you all for your patience with me. I've been working at this chapter for a while, scrapping details and then realizing that they were actually important and then having to put them back in and all that fun stuff. My beta deserves a medal for kicking me back to work. 
> 
> This chapter might not be the best thing ever, but it's done and that's what matters. I've also changed a few tags but nothing should be okay I think. Plus I have the next chapter to be updated within the next two days, so.... Enjoy!

Jazz stepped past Prowl and further into the room. All of the clutter that he had left before this whole mess had been organized back on the shelves. The mesh blanket that Jazz had given Prowl ages ago was folded up on the couch. Nothing was different - Jazz didn’t know what he was expecting to have changed, but the familiarity was bittersweet. He waited until Prowl had locked the door and made his way over to the couch. 

Prowl sighed and motioned for Jazz to join him. The Praxian sat on the edge of the seat, looking uncomfortable. Ready to flee should things turn sour. Primus, Jazz hoped they didn’t. As he sat down, Prowl tucked his doorwings close and clasped his hands in his lap. Jazz couldn’t bring himself to meet his optics.

It was silent for only a few kliks before Prowl spoke. “Smokescreen said you talked.” 

“Yeah,” Jazz said as he wrenched his gaze away from the floor tiling and focused on a spot just over Prowl’s shoulder. “I wasn’t tryin’ to pry. It’s...it’s just I didn’t realize. Primus, I didn’t  _ know _ .”

“It would have been better if you had never found out.”

“Why didn’t ya tell me?”

Prowl shrugged. “It was in the past. I had no reason to believe it would be dragged up again like this.”

_ Primus _ , he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Jazz was so lost. How to approach it? How to even try to explain how sorry he was? He couldn’t excuse his behavior, not after all the pain he caused. He didn’t want to bring up any more hurt. Prowl seemed to be resigned to talking with him, but that didn’t mean they would be able to actually talk about it. 

Had there always been this sense of defeat in the air?

“What do you wish to know?” Prowl suddenly looked directly at him, optics hard. “I cannot promise to give you all the details, but I can provide some.”

“Ya don’t have ta tell-”

“You wanted to talk, so what do you want to know?”  
  


If he wanted to be direct, then Jazz wouldn’t try to change his mind. That wouldn’t stop him from feeling like an invader. Jazz leaned back against the back of the couch so that he was facing towards Prowl. “Who was the Con - Scorch?”

“A former enforcer. He had been discharged and imprisoned after an investigation into claims of misconduct.”

“Ya knew him?”

“Our precincts were too small to host a homicide unit so they created a team with enforcers from both precincts. We were partners.”

“What happened to make ‘im...like he was?”

Prowl glanced down at his hands, optics narrowed. “He had a rather obsessive personality. It had only been small things at first, things that could be easily passed off or ignored. Then he started to collect reports dealing with specific criminals. If a mech had tried to harm someone from the unit or tried to make investigations difficult, he’d have patrol officers keep an optic out for them. Most of them weren’t arrested, just killed on the grounds of self-defense.” His doorwings flicked. “We were involved during a raid. It was a drug smuggling ring that had murdered a family that happened to witness a deal. One of my doorwings had taken a stray shot during the chaos. After that, Scorch began to hover.”

“So he fixated on ya,” Jazz said. 

“No one really noticed that he was behaving differently about it then usual. He was always furious after one of our own was injured, but never like this. It didn’t take long before he refused to let me come with him during investigations. He was senior, so I followed orders.” Prowl trailed off, a slight shiver running through his frame. “Maybe that’s why he…”

Jazz leaned forward, his concern mounting. “He what?”

“I can’t talk about it. Not now.” Prowl said quietly. He seemed to draw into himself. Panic bloomed in Jazz’s spark. 

“Ya don’t have to. I’m sorry-”

Prowl held out a hand to stop Jazz before he began to ramble. “It’s in the past.”

“No it’s not,” Jazz exclaimed. “Prowl, yer hurtin’  _ now _ . It doesn’t matter how long ago it was, because yer scared now. Everyone is treatin’ ya terribly and it’s my  _ fault _ .”

“Jazz-”

Jazz shook his head. “I interrupted ya, sorry.”

Prowl was silent for a klik, optics inspecting Jazz’s expression. “What else do you wish to know about Scorch?”

“Ya said he was investigated for misconduct?”

“His sudden interest in me started to affect the unit. He refused to allow me to come on cases and intervened when I would work with other enforcers. The others tried to convince me to transfer to another district. I didn’t listen to them. One of them went to our superiors to get one of them to transfer me. When Scorch’s obsessiveness was brought up, they agreed to investigate. Scorch was...better...for awhile. Then new evidence came up.” Prowl’s doorwings twitched again. Jazz wanted to reach out and ease the tension lining Prowl’s frame. “It was over quickly after that.”

From what Jazz could remember from all that Prowl had told him about being an enforcer and the never ending rules and procedures, having an investigation into one of their own enforcers would most likely be handled with extreme care. Not rushed. “What kinda evidence?”

“He was supposed to be under review,” Prowl said. “Suspended until he was either charged or the investigation cleared him.”

“He wasn’t doing any cases?”

“No,” Prowl replied as he broke their optic contact to study the floor.

Jazz leaned forward, spark in his throat. “Ya said  _ supposed _ to be suspended.”

“We were under stress with a high-profile murder. He was the only one experienced enough to handle it. They were going to put the investigation on hold until the case was closed. The public needed to see that we were doing something so Scorch was brought back in.”

“What? But-”

Prowl sighed, “We needed him.”

“That doesn’t mean…” Jazz trailed off, unsure of just what to protest. Prowl still wasn’t looking at him. It was  _ unfair _ . Unfair that they had to bring Scorch back, unfair that Prowl has to recount it, unfair that he was being selfish enough to ask to understand,  _ unfair _ . It was  _ wrong _ . 

Prowl waited, as if expecting Jazz to finish his statement. When he didn’t make any attempts, Prowl hesitantly looked up. “They did what they had to do.”

“Sure.” It came out flat. Neither of the mechs believed it. “If they were gonna wait to investigate, then what happened that made them close it up so quick?”

“He approached me, asking for backup. He wanted to go talk to the family of a suspect.” Prowl’s shoulders slumped, his wings settling along the couch’s curved back. Defeated. “I was surprised that he was voluntarily involving me in the case after so long. I agreed to come with him. Before we left the precinct, I had told one of the other senior enforcers that Scorch and I were going to talk to the family. She had tried to convince me that it was a bad idea, that I should maybe take another enforcer with us. I was foolish in assuming she meant for protection against the suspect’s family. She really meant protection against Scorch. It didn’t occur to me that I should be suspicious of my partner. There was always something different about him, but nothing that seemed dangerous. 

We drove through an run-down district just outside of Praxus’ limits. The family lived in an apartment complex that was mostly occupied by refugees. When we got to the family’s supposed number, there was no one there. Scorch insisted on going inside and I insisted that it was best to try coming back later. We argued and he started getting anxious. He shoved me back against the door. It...I…” Prowl stumbled over his own words. Jazz frowned when Prowl suddenly drew back, staring blankly at the door. His vents grew harsh.

“Prowl?” Jazz couldn’t keep track of the emotions flashing through Prowl’s optics. They were there and gone too quickly. “Prowl, breathe.”

“He knew there was no one there, Jazz,” Prowl’s voice had suddenly turned desperate, his optics bright and hazy. “He knew that it was empty and that no one there would interfere-”

“Prowl, stop.” Jazz scooted closer to Prowl when it didn’t seem like his words got through. Whatever mindspace Prowl was in was terrifying. “Just breathe, okay? Prowler, you’re safe. See?” Carefully, Jazz moved over to unfold the blanket. He tossed it over Prowl’s trembling form.

Prowl’s optics dimmed at the contact and he looked down at the blanket. He tangled a hand in the fabric. Jazz leaned over so that he could meet Prowl’s optics. “Breathe, yeah?”

Prowl heaved out a heavy ex-vent. “I...my apologies.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” Jazz gave him a soft smile. The smile dropped when Prowl looked away. In a desperate bid, Jazz asked, “Why did he call ya songbird?”

“You said you had been to the Helix Gardens before it was destroyed?”

“Yeah, once or twice. It was amazin’. The crystals liked singin’ back.”

“Indeed,” Prowl agreed as he adjusted the blanket. “There were these crystal songbirds that would nest there. Scorch had needed to run an errand while we were in the city central and I waited for him in the Gardens. I had been reading a datapad when Scorch commed me. One of the birds had decided one of my doorwings was a comfortable perch. He called me his songbird since, regardless of my many protests.”

Jazz wasn’t sure what he should do. It felt like Prowl had laid his spark bare for him and what had he done to deserve it? He snuck a glance at the other mech. Prowl looked drained. There was a lot that still needed to be said, but Jazz found himself hesitating. Would it make it worse for Prowl? He couldn’t hurt the Praxian any more. 

They sat in silence.

Dragging up his courage, Jazz leaned forward. Before he could say anything, Prowl sighed. “I don’t blame you.”

Jazz froze. “What?”

“I don’t blame you,” Prowl made a half-hearted gesture towards the door, “I don’t blame you for anything.”

“But, I-”

“Didn’t do anything.”

“That’s the point!” Jazz surged to his feet, internally wincing at the flinch Prowl gave at his sudden movement. He knew he’d have time to agonize over it later, but he was too wrapped up in the sudden  _ shock-anger-grief _ flooding his spark. “Prowl, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t stop them from approachin’ ya, I didn’t stop them from hurlin’ insults at ya, I didn’t protect ya, I didn’t trust ya. I wouldn’t  _ listen  _ ta ya.”

Prowl shrugged. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“That doesn’t mean…” Jazz trailed off. There was a stubborn gleam in Prowl’s optics. He had made his decision. But wasn’t it the  _ wrong  _ decision? It had to be. It would be impossible-

“You said that you were sorry earlier,” Prowl said quietly, “and I forgive you.”


End file.
